Helen 


* 


ARTHUR  SHERBURNE  H.4RDY 


VI  -u~k 


HELEN.     A  Novel. 

DIANE  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    ANovel.    Illustrated. 

HIS  DAUGHTER  FIRST.     ANovel. 

THE  WIND  OF  DESTINY.     A  Novel. 

BUT  YET  A  WOMAN.     A  Novel. 

PASSE  ROSE.     A  Novel. 

JOSEPH  HARDY  NEESIMA    A  Biographical  Sketch. 
With  Portraits. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


HELEN 


ARTHUR  SHERBURNE  HARDY 


BOSTON  &  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

The  Riverside  Press  Cambridge 

1916 


HELEN 


i 

A  LITTLE  girl,  with  bare  brown  feet  and  an  orange- 
colored  scarf  tied  about  her  head,  was  looking  at 
him,  from  amid  her  sheep  behind  the  hedge  of 
agaves,  with  the  dull  curiosity  of  the  peasant. 
What  warmth  of  crimson  color  glowed  under  the 
olive  skin!  What  soft  depths  there  were  in  the 
wondering  eyes!  He  thought  of  the  shrivelled 
faces  of  the  women  he  had  seen  bending  over  the 
washing- trough  below  the  bridge  over  the  Nervia. 
While  there  was  yet  time  he  would  put  a  little  joy 
into  this  one. 

He  took  a  silver  franc  from  his  pocket  and  held 
it  out  in  his  hand.  The  stocky  little  figure  did  not 
move.  He  advanced  a  few  steps,  his  arm  ex 
tended.  Her  sheep,  alarmed,  scattered  down  the 
hillside,  and  still  she  did  not  move.  He  put  the 
franc  gently  in  her  hand,  smiling.  The  hand 
closed  over  it,  mechanically,  like  a  trap,  but  the 
face  remained  stolid.  Then,  suddenly,  possessed 
by  some  unknown  emotion,  she  turned  and  ran, 
as  if  pursued  by  one  of  the  wolves  which  winter 
drives  down  from  the  mountains.  He  watched  her 
orange-colored  scarf  till  it  disappeared  among  the 

3 


HELEN 


chestnut  trees,  then  pushed  on  westward  through 
Ventimiglia. 

He  had  left  the  steamer  at  Genoa  in  the  early 
morning  and  taken  the  first  train  for  Nice.  But  at 
Bordighera,  tired  of  dust  and  smoke  and  tunnels, 
he  had  escaped  from  his  overcrowded  compart 
ment,  resolved  to  walk,  at  least  as  far  as  Mentone. 
After  the  confinement  of  the  voyage  the  freedom 
of  the  long  white  road,  winding  through  town  and 
village  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  ap 
pealed  to  him. 

Young  and  vigorous  of  limb,  his  stride  aston 
ished  the  idlers  lolling  over  the  stone  parapets, 
below  which  the  fishermen  tugged  at  their  black 
nets.  Yet  business  he  had  none,  for  the  moment, 
beyond  the  joy  of  fresh  air  and  curiosity  as  to 
what  new  reach  of  shore  and  sea  the  next  bend 
of  the  road  would  disclose.  Ultimately,  indeed, 
there  was  business  ahead,  somewhere  on  the  wind 
ing  road  —  business  viewed  with  a  certain  exhil 
aration  of  expectation,  not  wholly  free  from  dubi 
ousness,  business  man  though  he  was,  accustomed 
to  assume  new  responsibilities  with  the  confidence 
of  the  much-occupied  who  have  always  time  for 
everything. 

The  sun  was  already  low  as  he  climbed  the  crest 
under  the  precipices  above  the  Villa  Fontana. 
The  shadows  on  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  hills 
behind  Mentone  were  deepening  from  blue  to 
black. 


HELEN 


As  he  reached  the  gate  of  the  villa  a  glitter  of 
light  on  the  road  surface  caught  his  eye.  Stooping, 
he  saw  a  small  cross  set  with  diamonds. 

He  put  the  jewel  in  his  pocket  and  walked  on, 
as  if  he  were  in  the  habit  of  picking  up  diamonds 
on  the  roadside. 

Just  then  a  boy  in  knickerbockers,  a  small 
cap  on  the  back  of  his  head,  came  out  from  the 
gate,  his  body  bent  forward  in  the  attitude  of 
search. 

"Have  you  lost  anything,  my  boy?" 

"Have  you  found  anything?" 

The  man  smiled. 

"You  are  an  American,  are  n't  you?" 

"You  are,  too,  are  n't  you?" 

The  man  smiled  again.  The  ready  answers 
came  back  like  echoes. 

"Yes,  I've  found  something.  What  have  you 
lost?" 

"I  have  n't  lost  anything.   But  Helen  has." 

"We'll  go  and  find  Helen,  then,"  said  the  man 
tranquilly.  He  seemed  to  have  found  more  than 
the  jewel  in  his  pocket. 

The  boy  made  no  reply.  He  appeared  to  be 
made  of  the  same  self-possessed  stock,  pushing 
aside  the  half-open  gate  with  an  air  of  ownership. 

"I  will  wait  here,"  said  his  companion. 

The  boy  looked  up  in  quick  surprise.  What  sort 
of  a  person  did  he  think  Helen  was  —  a  little 
girl? 


HELEN 


"  You  don't  expect  Helen  to  come  out  here,  do 
you?"  he  said,  frowning. 

"Why  not?" 

Surprised,  but  not  disconcerted,  the  boy  studied 
the  grey  eyes  of  the  stranger  for  a  moment,  then 
ran  down  the  path  and  disappeared  in  the  shrub 
bery.  In  the  distance  his  voice  could  be  heard 
crying* 'Helen!  Helen !" 

"  I  suppose  there  is  more  than  one  Helen  in  the 
world,'*  the  man  muttered.  But  what  a  coin-' 
cidence ! 

A  gardener,  touching  his  hat,  motioned  obsequi 
ously  to  the  stone  seat  by  the  wing-wall.  The 
muttering  stranger  was  clearly  not  of  his  race  and 
deserved  consideration. 

Presently,  at  the  end  of  the  trellised  walk,  bor 
dered  and  roofed  with  blossoms,  Helen  appeared 
with  her  brother.  That  they  were  brother  and 
sister  he  knew  from  the  resemblance.  There  was 
also  the  same  absence  of  all  self-consciousness.  . 

He  rose  as  she  came  nearer,  but  without  going 
forward  to  meet  her.  Even  in  the  dusk  of  the  trel 
lis  the  charm  of  her  face  made  its  appeal  to  him. 
From  the  deep  surrounding  shadows  it  stood  out 
as  from  the  dark  background  of  a  picture. 

The  girl  spoke  first,  with  the  same  unstudied 
directness  as  her  brother. 

"My  brother  says  he  thinks  you  have  found  my 


cross." 


1  Is  this  it ?  "  he  asked,  taking  it  from  his  pocket. 
6 


HELEN 


"Yes,  certainly."  The  face  lit  up  wonderfully. 
It  was  my  mother's.   Grandmamma  lends  it  to 


me." 


"  If  it  was  your  mother's,  why  does  your  grand 
mother  only  lend  it  to  you?" 

She  drew  herself  up  with  a  quick  resentment, 
and  as  suddenly  relented,  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
passing  through  her  eyes.  The  question  was  so 
direct,  yet  so  absolutely  logical,  that  it  touched 
her  sense  of  humor. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  allow  her  to  thank 
you?"  she  parried. 

"If  any  thanks  were  needed,  yours  were  quite 
sufficient." 

It  was  not  a  compliment,  but  a  statement  of 
fact,  and  the  smile  came  back  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  never  expected  to  see  it  again.  It  seems  too 
wpnderful  — " 

"Oh,"  he  interrupted,  "it  was  bound  to  be 
found  by  some  one,  lying  there  in  the  road." 

The  smile  deepened  to  amusement.  Was  he 
indifferent,  or  was  he  going  to  apologize  for  finding 
it  at  all? 

"Yes,  of  course,  by  some  one  — " 

"  I  call  it  luck,"  broke  in  the  boy.  "  I  believe  in 
luck,  don't  you?" 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Not  enough  to  count  upon  it,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  gate. 

"But  I  can't  let  you  go  in  this  way,"  she  said 

7 


HELEN 


impulsively.  Every  defect  in  her  face  was  for 
gotten  when  she  spoke.  "  I  have  n't  thanked  you 
myself  yet,  and  I  can't  give  you  a  louis  as  if  you 
were  a  peasant." 

"If  you  did  I  assure  you  I  should  take  it  —  not 
as  a  reward,  as  a  souvenir." 

She  flushed  at  his  directness,  but  it  was  too 
natural  to  be  offensive.  In  spite  of  his  matter- 
of-factness  he  had  roused  again  her  sense  of 
humor. 

"Please,  Helen,"  the  boy  broke  in  once  more, 
"may  I  go  as  far  as  the  bridge?" 

She  glanced  from  the  boy's  eager  face  to  the 
man's  quiet  one. 

He  answered  for  her. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  don't  mind  my  long  strides." 

She  made  another  effort. 

" It  seems  so  little  just  to  say  'thank  you.'  ' 

41  It  only  seems  so  "  — Then  the  gates  closed  be 
tween  them. 

"So  that's  Helen." 

"Yes,"  said  his  companion  in  the  same  busi 
nesslike  tone,  "that's  Helen.  You  see,"  he  ex 
plained  as  he  trudged  beside  his  new  acquaint 
ance,  "I  don't  see  many  Americans." 

"No?" 

"Hardly  any.  Of  course  it's  beautiful,  and  all 
that  —  but  there's  nothing  to  do.  What's  your 
name?" 

8 


HELEN 


There  was  no  curiosity  in  the  question,  only 
the  desire  to  put  acquaintance  on  a  better  foot 
ing. 

"Fearing." 

"Mine's  Jack." 

The  absence  of  curiosity  on  both  sides  was  strik 
ing.  Each  took  the  other  for  granted. 

After  a  pause,  and  with  evident  amusement:  — 

"  It's  lucky  you  were  n't  a  peasant.  I  don't  be 
lieve  Helen  had  a  louis." 

"Does  n't  she  have  many?" 

He  betrayed  no  guilt  of  indiscretion  in  asking 
the  question,  and  clearly  Jack  detected  none,  for 
the  answer  came  instantly. 

"Only  when  grandmamma  gives  her  one.  You 
see,  we're  poor." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Fearing,  taking  the  boy's 
hand  in  his.  He  was  wondering  whether  poverty 
sat  as  lightly  on  Helen's  shoulders. 

They  walked  on  for  a  time  in  silence.  Jack  was 
the  first  to  break  it. 

"Helen  played  for  me  once  in  the  Casino  at 
Nice  while  grandmamma  was  having  tea,  and  I 
won  two  francs." 

"You  seem  to  have  good  reasons  for  believing 
in  luck." 

"Yes.  Helen  would  n't  own  up  to  it.  She  pre 
tends  she  did  it  just  to  please  me.  But  I  know  she 
would  love  to  play  herself.  Did  you  ever  try  your 
luck?" 


HELEN 


"Not  at  Nice,  Jack." 

"Where?" 

"Nowhere  —  where   the   chances   were   dead 
against  me,"  he  added. 

Jack  lapsed  into  thoughtful  silence. 

"Did  you  come  from  Mentone?" 

"No,  from  Bordighera." 

"Whew!  That's  a  good  long  walk.  Why  did 
n't  you  get  a  motor?" 

"I  have  one.   It's  on  the  dock  at  Genoa." 

Jack  was  not  impressed.  The  dust-stained 
shoes  had  not  deceived  him. 

"Helen  and  I  walk  a  good  deal  too,"  he  volun 
teered;  then  added  cheerily,  "We  have  to." 

At  the  frontier  Fearing  dropped  the  hand  in 
his. 

"Here's  the  bridge,  Jack.  You  know  you 
promised — " 

"Oh,  I  always  keep  my  promises  to  Helen," 
came  the  quick  reply. 

"Is  that  because  you  only  make  those  you  in 
tend  to  keep,  or  is  Helen  the  reason?" 

Jack  looked  up  with  a  puzzled  expression  on 
his  young  face.  It  was  quite  clear  that  he  was 
proud  of  his  sister,  and  that  keeping  faith  with 
her  was  nothing  to  boast  of. 

"I  don't  see  any  difference,"  he  said,  breaking 
into  a  laugh.  "Good-bye.  It 's a  funny  old  bridge, 
is  n't  it.  Is  your  car  an  American  one?  I  'd  like 
to  see  it  sometime." 


10 


HELEN 


"You  will,  Jack.   Good-night." 

Under  the  palms  on  the  promenade  in  Men- 
tone  Fearing  found  a  motor,  and  gave  the  order, 
"  Nice." 


II 

JACK  had  returned  from  the  Pont  St.  Louis  in 
high  spirits.  So  far  as  Helen  could  discover  there 
was  no  particular  reason  for  his  enthusiasm  ex 
cept  that  he  liked  Mr.  Fearing. 

"Don't  you?"  he  asked. 

"  I  have  n't  made  up  my  mind  yet,  Jack." 

"Why,  Helen,  you  don't  have  to  make  up  your 
mind  when  you  like  anybody.  You  just  like  them 
or  you  don't." 

Helen  laughed.  So  his  name  was  Fearing. 
Jack  admitted  that  he  had  asked  him.  And  had 
he  reciprocated  Mr.  Fearing's  confidences?  He 
could  not  exactly  remember.  He  had  merely  vol 
unteered  the  information  that  his  name  was  Jack 
—  to  facilitate  conversation.  Had  Mr.  Fearing 
asked  any  questions?  No,  nothing  in  particular. 
She  teased  him  a  little  over  this  one-sided  ac 
quaintance,  but  without  shaking  his  assurance. 
Mr.  Fearing  had  said  they  should  see  each  other 
again. 

"He  promised  to  show  me  his  car,  and  he  said 
'good-night'  when  I  said  'good-bye,'  "  Jack  as 
serted. 

"You  dear,  hopeful  boy,"  she  laughed. 

"I  wish  I  was  going  to  America  with  him." 

Helen  took  the  boy's  hand  in  her  own  with  a 
12 


HELEN 


caressing  gesture.  She  was  the  repository  of  all 
his  many  hopes  and  few  woes.  His  wish  was  pre 
posterous,  but  she  made  no  comment.  Contact 
with  his  own  race  always  set  Jack's  blood  on  fire. 
With  the  dream  which  haunted  his  mind  she  was 
in  sympathy,  a  sympathy  against  whose  impo 
tence  she  was  in  constant  revolt.  Was  it  to  re 
main  forever  a  dream? 

Her  thought  reverted  to  the  incident  of  the 
day.  It  certainly  was  an  extraordinary  thing  — • 
the  finding  of  her  cross.  At  first  she  had  been 
quite  sure  that  she  had  lost  it  in  the  garden,  but 
search  had  proved  fruitless.  And  then  Jack  had 
remembered  that  she  had  gone  to  the  gate  with 
the  Princess  Ghica.  What  a  dear,  fascinating 
woman  Aunt  Tatia  was,  in  spite  of  her  plain  face 
with  its  little  flat  nose,  like  the  faces  in  Persian 
pictures.  And  what  a  life  she  had  had,  with  her 
husband  on  his  mission  to  Siberia,  travelling  in 
far-away,  mysterious  regions,  living  in  huts  cov 
ered  with  skins,  in  log  dugouts  on  unmapped 
rivers,  riding  long  days  on  a  cavalry  saddle  with 
strange  tribesmen.  What  a  contrast  to  the  mo 
notonous  life  of  the  Villa  Fontana!  She  glanced 
over  to  her  grandmother,  reading  quietly  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room.  In  some  indefinable  way 
she  felt  that  the  monotony  had  been  broken. 

What  an  abrupt  manner  he  had!  "If  it  was 
your  mother's,  why  does  your  grandmother  only 
lend  it  to  you?" 

13 


HELEN 


Curled  up  in  the  big  chair  by  the  fire,  she  smiled 
again.  The  question  had  gone  to  the  root  of  the 
matter,  like  a  knife  —  yet  it  was  not  an  imper 
tinence.  If  she  had  not  asked  it  herself  in  so 
many  words,  it  was  not  for  that  reason  absolutely 
unfamiliar.  The  wonder  was,  not  that  he,  the 
stranger,  should  have  dared  to  ask  it,  but  that  he, 
the  stranger,  should  have  instantly  laid  his  hand 
on  the  very  heart  of  her  secret  life,  of  the  thought 
unspoken.  How  had  he  dared,  what  right  had  he, 
to  ask  it?  and  above  all,  why?  with  that  quiet  air 
of  authority!  Yet  she  had  not  resented  it.  It  was 
so  amusing,  and  so  refreshing,  like  a  cool  breeze 
from  the  sea.  She  was  tired  of  tepid  speeches. 
The  image  of  little  M.  Hermite,  with  his  flow 
ered  waistcoat  and  insinuating  voice,  crossed  her 
mind. 

"Grandmamma,  did  you  ever  know  any  one 
by  the  name  of  Fearing?" 

The  Fearings?  Certainly.  It  was  a  very  dis 
tinguished  New  England  family,  which  had  for 
merly  rendered  important  services  to  the  coun 
try.  She  remembered  the  elder  Fearing  perfectly 
—  a  very  courtly  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 
There  was  a  son,  whom  she  had  seen  occasionally 
when  he  was  a  boy.  He  ought  to  have  followed 
the  family  traditions  and  gone  into  the  public 
service.  But  the  times  had  changed.  Gentlemen 
did  not  enter  the  public  service  any  longer,  or,  if 
they  did,  the  muddy  waters  of  politics,  the  mean- 

14 


HELEN 


nesses  necessary  to  political  success,  soon  ren 
dered  them  unrecognizable.  For  nowadays  no 
one  regarded  politics  as  a  public  service,  but  only 
as  a  means  to  private  ends.  The  honest  man, 
fearless  enough  to  remain  unsoiled  by  the  conta 
gion  of  his  company,  was  paid  for  his  integrity 
with  defeat.  She  believed  that  after  leaving  the 
university  young  Fearing  had  gone  into  business. 
She  had  heard  that  he  had  been  very  successful  — 
that  is,  had  become  immensely  rich.  To  the 
younger  generation  success  meant  wealth. 

She  spoke  with  a  mild  disdain,  as  one  associ 
ated  with  a  past  age  whose  manners  and  idols 
had  had  their  day. 

In  the  deep  chair  before  the  fire  Helen  sighed. 
She  was  familiar  with  that  air  of  detached  interest 
which  stood  like  a  wall  between  her  and  life. 

"You  know,  it  was  a  Mr.  Fearing  who  found 
my  cross  to-day." 

"Really." 

"Yes.  Jack  walked  with  him  as  far  as  the  St. 
Louis  bridge.  He  told  Jack  his  name  was  Fear- 
ing." 

"Very  likely.  Everyone  comes  to  the  Riviera 
sooner  or  later."  And  Mrs.  Lee  resumed  her 
book. 

It  clearly  meant  nothing  to  her  grandmother  — 
no,  nor  to  her  either.  Why  should  it?  Yet  some 
thing  of  Jack's  optimism  lingered.  "You  don't 
have  to  make  up  your  mind  when  you  like  any- 

15 


HELEN 


body.  You  just  like  them  or  you  don't."  Perhaps 
Jack  was  right.  Perhaps  there  was  a  surer,  swifter 
instinct,  which  scorns  the  commonplace  prelimi 
naries  to  intimacy,  —  a  voice  from  the  crowd  one 
sees  without  seeing,  heard  and  answered  even 
against  the  will. 

The  book  had  fallen  into  the  lap  and  the  eyes 
were  closed.  Opening  the  low  window  she  stole 
noiselessly  out  into  the  garden. 

The  garden!  How  her  grandmother  loved  its 
every  tree  and  shrub  and  flower !  She  had  wanted 
to  escape  from  the  stifling  oppression  of  that  si 
lent  room,  and  now,  in  the  garden,  she  wanted  to 
escape  from  the  oppression  of  the  garden  itself. 
It  might  have  been  a  spot  in  which  they  walked 
together,  but  by  none  of  its  paths  had  she  ever 
found  her  way  to  her  grandmother's  affection. 
That  was  the  truth.  She  had  never  realized  it  as 
keenly  as  she  did  tonight.  If  it  were  not  for  Jack, 
and  the  Princess  Ghica  — 

She  went  slowly  down  to  the  seat  by  the  wa 
ter's  edge  where  the  sea  opened  between  the 
oleanders  in  all  its  level  splendor.  Little  waves 
lapped  against  the  black  rocks  and  fell  back 
again  —  always  back  again.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
next  one,  rippling  in  so  bravely  under  the  moon 
light,  would  bring  something  —  some  news,  from 
the  far  spaces  where  sea  and  sky  met. 

The  night  was  chilly  and  she  stole  back  again 
to  the  warmth  of  the  fire.  Jack  had  gone  to  bed. 

16 


HELEN 


She  would  go  up  and  see  if  he  was  asleep.  Her 
sense  of  responsibility  for  Jack  was  strong. 

"Helen." 

"Yes,  grandmamma/' 

"My  eyes  are  tired.  Will  you  finish  this  chap 
ter  for  me?" 

She  went  over  to  the  reading-lamp  and  took 
the  open  book  —  "  The  Recollections  of  a  Quiet 
Life." 


Ill 

IT  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  that  evening  when 
Fearing,  having  motored  over  from  Mentone,  fin 
ished  his  dinner  at  the  Hotel  Majestic  in  Nice. 
Strolling  down  the  corridor  he  stopped  before  the 
display  of  jewelry  in  the  vitrine  at  the  entrance 
to  the  salon.  From  the  vitrine  his  glance  wan 
dered  over  the  room,  filled  with  that  cosmopoli 
tan  medley  of  men  and  women  that  haunts  the 
fashionable  hotels  of  the  Riviera  in  the  season. 
A  half-dozen  scarlet-coated  musicians  were  doing 
their  utmost  to  render  conversation  impossible. 
Should  he  go  in  and  study  humanity,  or  retire  to 
his  own  room? 

Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  a  lifted  arm  and 
the  beckoning  sign  of  a  hand  sparkling  with  rings. 
The  Princess  Ghica !  He  made  his  way  slowly  be 
tween  the  crowded  tables  with  an  answering  sign 
of  recognition. 

"You  here!"  she  exclaimed  as  he  came  up,  — 
"  in  this  dull  place!  what  a  chance!  Sit  down  and 
talk  to  me." 

She  gathered  up  her  train,  pushing  the  vacant 
chair  toward  him.  The  thought  that  the  burden 
of  conversation  would  not  rest  upon  him  crossed 
his  mind. 

"I  did  n't  know  any  place  was  dull  where  you 
18 


HELEN 


were,  Princess,"  he  said,  moving  the  gauze  scarf, 
the  cigarette  case,  and  the  fan  from  the  chair  to 
the  table.  "Are  you  alone?" 

"  No,  Dimitri  has  gone  to  the  Casino.  We  have 
promised  to  go  to  the  ball  at  the  Prefecture  — 
but  there  is  an  hour  yet." 

"I  thought  you  were  in  China,  or  Thibet, 
or  —  " 

" Merci,  for  the  compliment!  You  exile  me  as 
far  away  as  possible.  But  yo u,  in  Nice  —  it  is  un 
thinkable." 

"  I  landed  this  morning  in  Genoa.  Am  I  so  out 
of  place?" 

"You  are  certainly  the  last  person  I  expected 
to  see  here.  What  is  it?  not  health,  surely  —  or 
have  you  abandoned  money-making?" 

Fearing  laughed. 

"You  have  a  very  sordid  opinion  of  me.  But 
you  are  right.  I  am  here  on  business  —  of  a  kind. 
Not  the  money-making  kind,  however,"  he  added. 

"Business,  the  everlasting  business,"  echoed 
the  Princess,  with  her  queer  little  accent.  "One 
would  suppose  we  were  in  New  York  again." 

"I  hope  you  don't  bear  New  York  too  much 
malice." 

"  I?  on  the  contrary,  I  adore  it.  But  your  coun 
try  is  so  expensive  —  for  a  poor  Secretary." 

"You  make  a  very  pretty  picture  of  indigence," 
said  Fearing,  taking  up  the  gold  cigarette  case. 
"  I  remember  your  Samos  cigarettes.  May  I  have 

19 


HELEN 


one?  Suppose  you  tell  me  now  what  you  are  doing 
in  Nice.  Are  you  on  leave?" 

"Worse  than  that,  much  worse.  We  are  en  dis- 
ponibilite!  But  we  are  hoping  for  Petersburg." 

*  *  And  meanwhile  —  * ' 

"  Meanwhile  we  are  waiting,  eating  out  the  life, 
as  you  say  in  English.  You  are  not  taking  coffee? 
No?  Shall  we  go  to  the  Casino  and  find  Dimitri?  " 

"If  you  wish." 

"But  I  see  you  do  not  wish.  You  are  right.  It 
is  a  bore.  We  will  sit  here  and  —  talk  business." 

"Obviously  your  opinion  of  me  has  changed 
since  you  left  Washington.  You  did  not  over 
whelm  me  with  contempt  in  those  days." 

"Ah,  but  I  have  had  informations  about  you." 

"Informations?  Am  I  on  the  list  of  your  po 
lice?" 

"Very  bad  informations."  She  nodded  gravely. 
"In  those  days  you  were  not  rich." 

He  was  familiar  with  the  Princess's  indiscre 
tions,  easily  condoned,  because  of  her  good  na 
ture.  But  the  remark  jarred  a  little.  He  did  not 
wear  his  money  on  his  sleeve. 

She  leaned  forward  on  the  table  with  a  serious 
air  of  friendly  interest,  quite  indifferent  to  the 
effect  of  her  frankness. 

"Why  do  you  not  give  up  this  money-making 
—  have  you  not  enough?" 

Her  quick  interest  in  the  thing  or  person  in 
hand  was  one  of  her  charms. 

20 


HELEN 


"It's  not  as  easy  to  drop  one's  responsibilities 
as  it  is  to  change  posts,  you  know,"  he  said  quietly. 

"So  you  will  go  on  in  this  way,  without  pleas 
ure  — "  he  made  a  gesture  of  dissent  —  ''without 
rest,  then  —  tourmente,  all  your  life,  to  the  end. 
Truly,  I  cannot  —  how  do  you  say  —  make  you 
out.  To  be  a  slave  all  one's  life!" 

His  point  of  view  was  so  radically  different  that 
he  made  no  serious  attempt  to  answer  her. 

"Men  have  to  pay  with  work  the  price  of  power 
—  for  which  women  pay  nothing,"  he  said  simply. 

She  looked  at  him  narrowly  for  a  moment,  then 
changed  the  subject  with  her  usual  abruptness. 

"And  you  have  not  married?" 

"No." 

"You  are  resolved  against  it.  I  see  that  plainly. 
You  do  not  know  the  proverb  of  Siberia  —  the 
little  smile  of  a  woman  will  undo  in  an  instant 
what  a  man  with  all  his  energies  accomplishes  in 
a  lifetime.  Some  day  a  woman  will  smile  upon 
you  and  you  will  be  undone." 

11  You  add  fresh  terrors  to  Siberia,  Princess." 

"Ah,  Siberia!"  she  sighed,  with  one  of  her 
swift  revulsions.  "I  wish  I  were  there.  But  it 
spoils  the  complexion.  See  how  it  has  ruined 
mine." 

Looking  into  the  piquant  face,  he  was  thinking 
how  much  more  interesting  it  was  than  mere 
beauty.  Little  of  that  did  she  have,  but  one  rarely 
thought  about  it  and  never  missed  it. 

21 


HELEN 


"  I  refuse  to  condole  with  you,"  he  said,  laugh 
ing. 

She  laughed  too,  frankly  pleased,  blowing 
away  the  smoke  between  them  and  half  closing 
her  long  narrow  eyes  —  Tartar  eyes,  as  she  her 
self  called  them,  like  those  of  Gogol's  horsemen 
peering  above  the  tall  grasses  of  the  steppes. 

"No,  I  was  not  fishing.  It  is  true,  it  is  quite 
spoiled.  Do  you  stay  long  in  Nice?" 

"  I  think  not.  A  day  or  two  —  perhaps." 

"  You  amuse  me,  calculating  time  so  carefully! 
You  are  in  Nice,  man  ami.  In  Nice  time  is  not 
money." 

"If  you  insist  on  dragging  in  money  any  more 
I  shall  believe  you  think  more  of  it  than  I  do." 

"Oh,  but  I  think  of  it  only  because  I  have  so 
little.  If  I  had  much  I  should  not  think  of  it  at 
all."  She  raised  her  hand  to  summon  a  passing 
waiter.  "A  green  chartreuse  —  two?"  Fearing 
shook  his  head.  She  took  another  cigarette,  offer 
ing  him  the  open  case,  then  settled  back  in  her 
chair.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  ' day 
or  two'?" 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  put  one  of  them  at 
your  disposal." 

She  sat  up  with  the  eager  animation  of  a  child. 

"Really  —  you  will  do  that?  Bravo!  Dimitri 
goes  to  Monte  Carlo  to-morrow  for  the  shooting 
of  pigeons.  You  will  breakfast  with  me  on  the 
terrace  at  one,  and  afterwards  —  let  me  think  — 

22 


HELEN 


shall  we  go  to  Le  Laghet  and  sit  under  the  cy 
presses?" 

41  You  take  a  weight  off  my  mind,  Princess.  I 
was  afraid  you  were  going  to  say  Monte  Carlo. 
Let  us  go  to  Le  Laghet  by  all  means." 

"  You  fear  Monte  Carlo  ?  " 

"  I?  Not  in  the  least.  I  detest  the  atmosphere. 
I  am  not  a  gambler." 

"Fie!"  she  exclaimed  between  sips  of  her  char 
treuse,  "one  does  not  use  such  horrid  words.  One 
plays,  one  does  not  gamble." 

"Do  you  make  these  fine  distinctions  in  self- 
defense?" 

"I  make  them  because  I  am  so  amiable.  Oh, 
once  in  a  while,  a  few  francs,  as  one  wastes  a  few 
francs  over  a  vaudeville.  But  napoleons,  never! 
—  it  is  not  worth  it.  But  I  have  reflected.  Le 
Laghet  is  too  sad.  We  will  go  to  the  Villa  Fon- 
tana.  Do  you  know  the  Villa  Fontana?" 

"The  Villa  Fontana," he  repeated  slowly;  "no." 

"  So  much  the  better.  It  has  a  wonderful  gar 
den,  and  belongs  to  one  of  your  countrywomen. 
You  do  not  object  to  meeting  your  country 
women?  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Then  it  is  settled.  And  at  the  Villa  Fontana  I 
will  show  you  Helen." 

There  was  a  note  of  promise  in  her  announce 
ment  to  which  she  observed  Fearing  made  no  re 
sponse.  What  the  expression  on  his  face  indi- 

23 


HELEN 


cated  was  not  clear,  but  she  interpreted  it  with 
out  hesitation  after  her  own  fashion. 

"You  know  Helen!" 

"  I  fell  in  with  a  boy  on  the  road  yesterday.  He 
said  his  sister's  name  was  Helen"  —  and  then 
again  —  "but  I  suppose,  there  is  more  than  one 
Helen  in  the  world." 

"The  man  who  knows  this  Helen  will  not  see 
the  others,"  she  said  decisively,  tapping  the  table 
with  her  fan.  "But  how  extraordinary!  You 
landed  in  Genoa  this  morning  and  already  — " 

"  Nothing  is  extraordinary  when  it  is  explained," 
he  interrupted.  "Yes,  I  landed  in  Genoa  this 
morning,  early.  I  left  my  man  on  the  quay,  wor 
ried  with  customs  officials  over  my  motor,  and 
took  the  first  train,  a  very  stuffy  train,  over 
crowded  and  crawling  most  of  the  time  in  tunnels. 
I  abandoned  it  at  Bordighera  in  search  of  air  and 
sun  and  walked  to  Men  tone,  where  I  got  a  car  and 
motored  here  after  dark.  On  the  road  I  met  a 
boy,  a  very  interesting  boy,  who  presented  me  to 
a  young  lady  he  said  was  his  sister  —  or  perhaps 
I  inferred  it.  It  was  rather  dark  under  the  trees, 
but  I  might  describe  her  sufficiently  to  identify 
her,  if  you  wish  me  to  try." 

"Do,"  she  said,  with  rising  curiosity;  "it  will 
be  amusing  to  hear  you  describe  Helen.  I  myself 
would  not  even  attempt  it." 

Fearing  took  up  the  gold  cigarette  case,  finger 
ing  the  monogram  thoughtfully. 

24 


HELEN 


"  I  had  better  approach  the  subject  cautiously, 
then,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  begin  with  the  boy?  Just 
a  plain  boy,  buoyant,  frank,  self-reliant,  quite  un 
conscious  of  being  natural,  but  with  nqne  of  the 
precocity  that  robs  childhood  of  its  charm  —  and 
very  much  in  love  with  his  sister.  One  knows  just 
what  sort  of  a  man  such  a  boy  will  make.  We 
understood  each  other  from  the  outset. " 

She  nodded,  closing  her  eyes;  then  opened  them 
wide  again. 

"Yes,  that's  Jack.  Goon." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  taking  refuge  in  an 
other  cigarette,  then  he  said  quietly,  — 

"I  should  rather  say  another  Jack  —  modified 
by  sex." 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"That's  an  evasion,  not  a  description." 

"It  was  too  dark  for  details,  Princess." 

"But  you  saw  something  —  tell  me  what  you 


saw." 


A  vision  of  the  slender  figure  advancing  under 
the  trellis  came  back  to  him. 

"Race,"  he  said,  looking  up;  "the  quality  that 
would  have  marked  her  for  the  guillotine  in  the 
Revolution  merely  because  the  rabble  have  n't 
got  it,  and  which  would  have  taken  her  up  its 
steps  without  flinching." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"You  see  very  well  in  the  dark  —  better  than 
you  know.  Tell  me  what  else  you  saw." 

25 


HELEN 


"Many  things,"  he  laughed.  "A  keen  sense  of 
humor,  self-control,  self-will — " 

"But  most  sensitive/' 

"Of  course,"  heassented.  "All  blooded  stock  is." 

She  leaned  forward  on  the  table,  crossing  her 
arms  before  her  impatiently. 

"Will  you  please  come  to  the  point.  A  woman's 
face  counts  for  something." 

"  Is  n't  the  identity  established?  I  am  not  very 
good  at  describing  faces."  She  waited,  silent. 
"Well  —  two  delicately  formed  ears,  white  by 
contrast,  under  the  hair  —  chestnut,  perhaps  — • 
something  pathetic  in  the  eyes  —  and  a  small 
nose  —  does  n't  it  turn  up  a  little?" 

"And  nothing  more!" 

"No,  not  till  she  spoke." 

Her  face  broke  into  a  satisfied  smile.  "You 
see  better  in  the  dark  than  some  people  in  broad 
daylight." 

"Any  one  can  see  charm,  Princess.  It's  only 
beauty  that  we  quarrel  about.  We  only  recognize 
the  type  that  appeals  to  us." 

"But  Helen  has  beauty,"  she  protested;  "not 
the  sculptor's  —  something  infinitely  more  elusive 
—  a  gift  she  does  not  reveal  to  everyone."  Then, 
with  one  of  her  swift  transitions,  "But  there  is  a 
difficulty  with  Helen  —  she  has  no  dot." 

"She  has  a  grandmother." 

"Ah,  but  it  is  not  so  agreeable  always  to  live 
with  a  grandmother." 

26 


HELEN 


"Your  sympathies  must  be  severely  taxed  if 
they  extend  to  every  one  who  happens  to  live 
with  a  grandmother." 

"All  the  same,  a  young  girl  should  not  be  shut 
up  with  an  old  woman.  What  is  a  woman  to  do  if 
she  does  not  marry?" 

"Sometimes  the  woman  who  does  not  care  to  is 
all  the  more  desirable." 

"  Not  the  woman  who  really  does  not  care,  mon 


ami.11 


"One  never  knows,  Princess." 

The  white  shoulders  lifted  scornfully. 

"You  are  a  very  foolish  person.  Ask  the  desir 
able  woman  and  she  will  tell  you.  But  who  told 
you,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  sitting  bolt  up 
right,  "  that  Helen  had  a  grandmother?" 

"She  did.  A  grandmother  is  not  a  secret.  Most 
people  have  one." 

The  Princess  Ghica  refused  to  smile.  Reticence 
always  exasperated  her. 

"What  else  did  she  tell  you?" 

"Oh,  nothing  one  does  not  know.  That  grand 
mothers  do  not  fill  the  vacant  places  —  of  moth 
ers,  for  example." 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  keen  scrutiny. 

'*  You  are  a  most  amazingly  observing  person 
—  and  most  mysterious." 

"Just  now  I  am  rather  a  curious  one.  You  seem 
to  be  greatly  interested  in  my  roadside  acquaint 
ances.  May  I  ask  why?" 

27 


HELEN 


"Why!  Mon  Dieu,  he  asks  me  why!  Helen's 
mother  and  I  were  born  on  the  same  day,  we  had 
the  same  godmother,  we  were  brought  up  together 
in  the  same  convent  —  Helen  is  like  my  own  child 
—  and  when  a  house  has  no  cradles — "  She 
stopped  short  with  a  little  nervous  laugh.  "  Thank 
God  I  have  not  yet  descended  to  lap  dogs!"  She 
dropped  her  cigarette  in  the  tray  and  began  to 
gather  up  her  possessions.  "  I  see  my  maid  pacing 
the  corridor  like  a  wild  animal.  She  wishes  to  tell 
me  the  carriage  is  waiting." 

He  rose  with  her,  opening  a  passageway  be 
tween  the  chairs,  taken  aback  by  this  unexpected 
outburst,  and  followed  her  in  silence. 

At  the  door  of  the  coupe  she  turned,  quite  her 
self  again. 

"You  will  not  come?" 

"  I  am  an  indifferent  dancer,  Princess.  I  should 
disgrace  you." 

"To-morrow,  then,  at  one  o'clock." 

1 '  At  one.  The  Prefecture ? ' ' 

She  nodded,  and  he  gave  the  order  to  the  coach 
man. 

In  the  hall  the  boy  in  buttons  threw  open  the 
doors  to  the  lift.  He  shook  his  head  and  started 
up  the  shallow  stairs. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  a  voice  at  his  elbow, 
"the  chartreuse." 

He  smiled.   "To  be  sure.   I  forgot  it." 

His  apartment  was  on  the  first  floor.    There 

28 


HELEN 


were  a  number  of  letters  on  the  table,  but  he 
threw  open  the  shutters  and  stepping  out  on  the 
balcony  dropped  into  one  of  the  wicker  chairs. 

"When  a  house  has  no  cradles.'*  How  quickly 
the  mask  of  frivolity  had  fallen  and  the  heart  of 
the  woman  had  spoken.  He  had  always  liked  the 
Princess.  Somehow,  in  a  single  second  he  had 
gotten  closer  to  her  than  in  all  the  year  of  their 
former  acquaintance. 

Below,  on  the  flagging  of  the  court,  carriages 
were  coming  and  going.  A  lackey  on  the  terrace 
was  lowering  the  huge  umbrellas  striped  in  red 
and  yellow.  Under  the  glare  of  the  arc  lights  the 
flowers  in  their  formal  beds  looked  ghastly.  A 
tram,  clanging  its  insistent  gong,  climbed  the 
boulevard  toward  Cimiez.  Beyond,  between  the 
roofs,  the  long  lines  of  brilliant  light  marked  the 
streets.  Farther  still  was  the  broken  line  of  the 
mountains  and  the  level  line  of  the  sea.  Sounds  of 
music  floated  up  from  the  pavilion  on  the  quay. 

Far  away  on  the  road  to  Ventimiglia  he  saw  a 
little  girl  fleeing  down  the  hillside  among  her 
scattering  sheep.  He  wondered  what  she  had 
done  with  his  franc.  Then  the  stupid  brown 
eyes  changed,  the  stocky  figure  vanished,  and 
Helen  stood  at  the  gate  of  the  Villa  Fontana. 

"A  mighty  nice  boy,"  he  said  emphatically. 

He  went  in,  closed  the  shutters,  and  took  up  his 
letters. 


IV 

IT  was  half  past  two.  They  had  outstayed  the 
other  guests  on  the  terrace,  and,  in  the  secluded 
corner  overlooking  the  garden,  were  quite  alone. 
The  waiter  had  ceased  to  hover  about  the  table, 
and  they  were  left  at  last  in  peace  over  the  coffee. 

"What  sort  of  a  person  is  Mrs.  Lee?"  asked 
Fearing,  looking  up  from  the  patterns  he  was 
tracing  with  his  cane  on  the  gravel. 

A  smile  stole  over  the  Princess  Ghica's  face. 
She  had  her  intuitions,  and  had  been  waiting  with 
more  than  usual  patience  for  a  return  to  the  con 
versation  of  the  previous  evening.  That  a  grand 
mother  should  be  the  avenue  of  approach  amused 
her.  In  this  instance,  however,  her  ordinarily 
trustworthy  intuitions  were  at  fault. 

"Mrs.  Lee?  A  very  agreeable"  —  she  paused 
to  select  her  word  —  "  hostess.  She  has  a  garden, 
you  know  —  not  a  salon.  It  is  very  diverting  to 
drink  a  cup  of  tea  there.  Like  the  climate  the 
Villa  Fontana  is  one  of  the  —  do  you  say  assets? 
—  of  a  winter's  holiday.  May  I  ask  you  why  you 
are  interested  in  Helen's  grandmother?" 

If  he  noticed  the  touch  of  irony  in  her  voice 
he  paid  no  heed  to  it.  Draining  the  last  drop  of 
coffee,  he  set  the  cup  down  deliberately  before 
replying. 

30 


"  HELEN 

"Because  it  was  to  find  Helen  I  came  to  the 
Riviera." 

"To  find  Helen!"  she  repeated,  sobered  in 
stantly  by  astonishment. 

"Helen  and  Jack,  to  be  exact.  And  what  I 
would  like  to  have  you  do,  since  you  know  them 
so  well,  is  to  tell  me  what  you  can  —  what  you  are 
inclined  to  —  about  them  generally." 

She  stared  at  him,  dumb  with  amazement. 
"The  fact  is,"  he  went  on  with  provoking  delibera 
tion,  reverting  to  his  designs  on  the  gravel,  "the 
business  you  were  rather  contemptuous  about 
last  night  concerns  an  estate  of  which  I  happen  to 
be  the  executor,  an  estate  in  which  Mrs.  Lee's 
grandchildren  have  an  interest  —  quite  a  large 
interest." 

' '  Hector  de  Chavigny ! "  Her  intuitions  were  on 
the  right  track  now. 

"Yes.  It  was  strange  that  I  should  run  upon 
upon  them  so,  by  pure  accident,  and  I  am  ex 
tremely  fortunate  to  have  run  upon  you,  since  you 
know — " 

"Know!  why,  I—" 

"Wait  a  moment,  please.  Let  me  first  justify 
my  curiosity.  There  is  rather  a  peculiar  clause  in 
Chavigny's  will  which,  after  setting  aside  a  cer 
tain  sum  for  maintenance  and  education  — " 

"But  Helen  is  of  age,"  put  in  the  Princess  ex 
citedly. 

"  —  goes  on  to  say  that  the  executor  is  author- 


HELEN 


ised  to  increase  that  sum  at  his  discretion  if  in  his 
judgment  the  children's  happiness  should  require 
it.  '  Happiness/  you  know,  is  not  a  common  word 
in  legal  documents.  Perhaps  that  will  explain  my 
interest  in  the  grandmother." 

"And  last  night  you  let  me  go  to  the  ball  — " 
"You  must  admit  you  left  me  rather  abruptly. 
It  was  only  at  the  last  moment  that  you  told 


me—" 


She  cut  him  short  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"Yes  —  yes  —  this  will,  this  legacy  —  what 
does  it  amount  to  —  for  the  children?" 

"Oh,  as  to  that  I  can't  say  definitely.  At  the 
time  of  Chavigny's  death  I  was  sailing  for  London, 
but  changed  to  the  Southern  route  to  look  the 
ground  over.  Roughly  speaking,  from  what  I 
know  of  his  affairs,  I  should  say  there  might  be  a 
million  or  so  between  them." 

"Dollars  or  francs?"  she  gasped. 

"Dollars." 

"Mon  Dieu!  mon  Dieu!  Think  of  it!  Millions 
in  each  pocket  for  these  children!" 

"  If  you  think  in  francs,  yes  —  that,  more  or 
less.  But  before  you  answer  my  question  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  of  one  matter  on  which  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  already,  irrespective  of  what 
that  answer  may  be.  About  Jack.  So  far  as  he 
is  concerned  it  was  made  up  before  I  left  him 
yesterday.  He  belongs  to  another  race  and  coun 
try —  a  country  of  which  he  knows  little,  of 

32 


HELEN 


which  he  has  probably  no  recollection,  yet  which 
he  longs  for  and  regrets.  Just  now  he's  a  boy 
without  a  country.  But  he 's  got  the  race  instinct 
and  I  propose  to  give  him  his  own." 

"How  fast  you  go,  mon  ami,"  she  murmured. 

"Not  any  faster  or  farther  than  I  can  see." 

A  little  gust  of  wind  shook  the  leaves  down  on 
the  white  cloth.  Fearing  began  pushing  them 
about  abstractedly  with  his  knife. 

"You  see,  Princess,"  —  he  spoke  dispassion 
ately,  as  of  another  person,  —  "I  myself  was  an 
only  child,  that  is,  a  lonely  child.  A  man  can  go 
through  a  wood  without  seeing  or  hearing  the  life 
on  every  side  of  him.  That's  the  way  I  went 
through  my  boyhood.  None  of  the  intimacies 
which  come  to  the  younger  members  of  a  large 
family  came  my  way.  That  boy  must  n't  become 
a  man  without  friends  and  interests,  and  this  is 
no  place  for  him  to  waste  another  day."  She 
nodded,  approvingly.  "As  for  his  sister  —  that's 
another  matter." 

"Quite,"  said  the  Princess  dryly. 

He  was  very  calm  and  cool  to  look  at,  smooth 
ing  out  the  wrinkles  on  the  white  cloth  with  his 
knife,  his  clean-cut,  forceful  face  stamped  with  the 
reserve  and  decision  of  his  New  England  ancestry. 
Compelling  her  admiration,  it  also  irritated  her. 

"Without  really  knowing  anything  about 
them,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  leaves  again,  "I 
supposed  they  were  both  mere  children." 

33 


HELEN 


"I  see." 

"  Now  if  I  might  remind  you  of  certain  things 
you  said  last  night  — " 

"Why  not?"  she  intervened  quickly. 

"Because,  possibly,  you  were  not  altogether 
serious  —  about  living  with  a  grandmother." 

"About  living  with  a  grandmother?  the  most 
serious  possible.  So  you  thought  they  were  chil 
dren!" —  A  gleam  of  amusement  in  her  small 
eyes.  "Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  are  thinking 
now?  In  New  York  you  said  to  yourself,  '  I  will 
arrange  this  little  affair  of  the  children  with  the 
grandmother ' ;  and  now,  in  Nice,  you  are  saying, 
4 1  will  arrange  this  affair  of  the  grandmother  with 
the  children.'" 

Fearing  laughed.  "That's  a  fairly  accurate 
statement,"  he  said  candidly. 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  she  said  softly,  relapsing  into  her 
first  astonishment,  "what  a  coup  de  theatre!  To 
walk  into  a  room  and  say,  *  I  bring  you  a  fortune 
—  freedom!'" 

"Freedom?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  for  Helen  it  will  be  freedom. 
What  will  you  do  with  her?  " 

"You  are  building  bridges  I  haven't  got  to 
cross,  Princess." 

"Helen  will  cross  her  own  bridges.  It  is  in  the 
blood."  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  incredulous. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  know  noth 
ing—" 

34 


HELEN 


"No,"  he  interrupted,  "nothing  beyond  what 
I  learned  yesterday  —  nothing  beyond  the  fact 
that  they  were  living  somewhere  here  with  their 
grandmother.  Begin  at  the  beginning,  please, 
Princess." 

She  tapped  a  fresh  cigarette  on  the  table. 

"Let  me  think.  It  was  twenty- three  years  ago 
a  young  American,  studying  in  Paris  at  the  Ecole 
des  Fonts  et  Chaussees,  to  enliven  himself  went 
one  afternoon  to  the  Sorbonne  to  hear  a  little 
philosophy.  It  was  quite  the  fashion  of  that  day 
to  listen  to  a  popular  professor  who  was  expound 
ing  the  eclecticism  of  Cousin.  All  feminine  Paris 
flocked  to  his  lecture-room.  At  one  of  these 
lectures  my  young  student,  looking  about  him, 
observes  a  young  girl  who,  not  being  interested 
in  philosophy,  is  also  looking  about.  Their  eyes 
meet.  The  seed  drops  into  the  ground.  There 
after  the  eloquence  of  the  lecturer  is  wasted  on 
them.  There  is  an  eloquence  more  powerful  than 
speech.  Nevertheless,  my  young  man  returns 
the  following  week  in  order  to  hear  Monsieur 
Cousin's  opinions  on  the  True,  the  Beautiful,  and 
the  Good.  On  that  occasion  he  followed  a  certain 
carriage  to  the  Rue  du  Bac  and  adopted  the  fash 
ion  of  Spanish  novios  —  that  is,  of  frequenting 
that  street  and  of  dividing  his  time  between  gaz 
ing  at  the  windows  of  one  of  its  houses  and  ad 
miring  the  prints  in  the  bookseller's  opposite. 
Was  he  rewarded  because  occasionally  a  curtain 

35 


HELEN 


stirred  at  one  of  those  windows?  Probably. 
When  one  is  hungry  one  is  grateful  for  even  a 
crumb.  Of  one  thing  I  am  positive  —  in  distress 
one  becomes  devout.  Monsieur,  although  a  here 
tic,  begins  to  attend  mass  regularly,  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  devotions  the  good  God  rewards  him 
with  a  glance  from  eyes  containing  what  is  not 
written  in  the  prayer- book. "  She  took  another 
cigarette  from  her  case,  accepting  the  match  he 
offered  her. 

"Well,  one  day  of  spring,  when  Paris  goes  to 
the  country,  the  windows  in  the  Rue  du  Bac  are 
closed,  the  light  of  the  world  is  quenched  and 
Paris  becomes  a  desert.  Disconsolate,  his  studies 
finished,  having  no  longer  any  object  in  life, 
monsieur  returns  to  his  own  country.  But  on  the 
very  eve  of  his  departure  occurs  one  of  those  things 
we  call  destiny.  He  is  walking  along  the  Quai 
Voltaire  when  he  sees  in  a  bookstall  on  the  parapet 
a  coveted  collection  of  the  Annales  des  Fonts  et 
Chaussees.  It  is  incomplete,  but  on  the  assurance 
that  the  missing  volumes  will  be  sent  to  him  he 
purchases  it.  The  little  god  who  selected  these 
musty  volumes  for  his  purpose  took  good  care 
that  the  missing  ones  should  not  be  found.  Per 
haps  you  prefer  to  believe  the  dealer  was  a  rascal. 
At  all  events,  they  do  not  arrive  in  New  York, 
and  after  much  waiting  and  innumerable  letters 
which  remain  unanswered,  the  idea  is  conceived 
of  lodging  a  complaint  with  the  Consul-General 

36 


HELEN 


of  France.  It  required  but  a  moment's  interview 
with  that  gentleman  to  learn  that  consuls-general 
do  not  trouble  themselves  about  such  trifles.  He 
goes  out,  furious,  to  find  a  carriage  standing 
before  the  door.  Instantly  his  dear  Annales  are 
forgotten  —  for  sitting  in  the  landau  of  the  Con- 
sul-General  is  the  young  girl  of  the  Sorbonne. 

"Shall  I  put  the  dots  upon  the  fs  "?  That  young 
man  was  the  son  of  Mrs.  Lee,  and  that  young  girl 
Helen's  mother,  Helene  de  Chavigny.  Eighteen 
months  after,  they  were  married,  and  among 
the  wedding  presents  the  missing  volumes  had 
the  place  of  honor.  You  knew  Helene' s  brother, 
naturally." 

''Chavigny?  Slightly  —  in  a  business  way.'* 

The  word  brought  back  the  smile  to  the 
Princess's  eyes. 

"He  adored  his  sister.  He  would  give  her  the 
moon.  She  asked  much  less  —  her  lover.  That  is 
why,  against  the  protest  of  the  head  of  the  family, 
he  permitted  some  of  the  purest  blood  of  Old 
France  to  mingle  with  that  of  the  New  World.  In 
your  country  everybody  becomes  contaminated. 
You  laugh  at  what  we  worship.  Moreover, 
Hector  was  already  estranged  from  his  father. 
No  one  hears  nowadays  of  the  Chavignys,  but  it 
is  a  name  which  everybody  knows.  Every  year 
the  old  Count  made  his  pilgrimage  to  Frohsdorf 
to  kiss  the  hand  of  Henri  Cinq.  He  wished  to  set 
back  the  clock.  Above  all  he  wished  to  bequeath 

37- 


HELEN 


to  his  son  his  ideas,  his  principles  —  another  word 
for  prejudices.  Hector  would  have  none  of  them. 
He  abandoned  his  title  to  enter  the  service  of  the 
detested  Republic.  It  was  during  a  short  leave  of 
absence  in  France  that  he  persuaded  Madame 
de  Chavigny  to  obtain  her  husband's  consent 
that  H61ene  should  return  with  him  for  a  visit. 
He  found  her  languishing.  The  sea  air  would  do 
her  good.  Did  she  cherish  vaguely  the  hope  of  a 
new  life  in  a  new  world?  Who  knows!  Hope  has 
its  gospel. 

"You  can  well  imagine  that  for  the  elder 
Chavigny  this  marriage  was  a  treason.  Con 
tracted  without  his  consent,  in  contempt  of 
French  law,  it  was  also  a  sacrilege.  Having  quar 
relled  with  the  son,  he  disowns  the  daughter.  So 
much  for  endeavoring  to  impose  one's  ideas  on 
posterity!'* 

Still  occupied  with  his  playthings,  Fearing  lis 
tened  without  comment. 

"  In  those  days  H61ene  wrote  to  me  frequently. 
All  these  details  she  confided  to  me.  It  is  from 
these  letters  that  I  learned  of  the  birth  of  the  chil 
dren,  of  her  husband's  devotion,  of  her  happi 
ness  and  the  assistance  rendered  by  her  brother. 
I  was  on  my  way  to  Siberia  when  I  received  her 
last  letter.  She  wrote  they  were  going  to  France, 
first  to  Nice  to  make  her  bow  to  her  mother-in- 
law,  and  then  to  Paris.  Dieu!  how  happy  she  was! 
and  how  proud  of  her  children!  She  wished  to 

38 


HELEN 


wear  her  jewels,  to  parade  them  before  her 
mother  in  the  Rue  du  Bac,  confident  that  they 
would  soften  the  heart  of  her  father. 

"I  remember  well  the  morning  pimitri  came 
into  my  tent,  holding  in  his  hand  the  last  paper 
from  Petersburg.  Our  correspondence  had  ceased, 
intercourse  with  the  outside  world  was  so  difficult. 
I  knew  from  his  face  that  he  had  some  terrible 
news  to  announce.  'Tatia,'  he  said,  *  there  has 
been  an  accident  in  France.  The  express  from 
Nice  has  left  the  rails  near  Tarascon.'  All  the 
names  were  given.  In  that  horrible  catastrophe 
Lee  and  Helene  perished.  They  were  in  the  din 
ing-car  which  went  over  the  embankment.  The 
children,  in  the  wagon-lit,  escaped  uninjured." 
She  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair.  "  You  under 
stand  now  why  I  am  interested  in  your  *  roadside 
acquaintances.'" 

Fearing  waited  patiently. 

"We  come  now  to  the  grandmother.  But  tell 
me  first  how  it  happens  that  Hector,  who  adored 
the  children,  waits  to  die  before  thinking  of 
them." 

"  Had  we  not  better  keep  to  the  facts,  Princess? 
I  represent  Chavigny  dead,  not  living.  I  used  to 
meet  him  occasionally  at  the  club  after  he  left  the 
Service,  for  you  know  he  resigned  and  became  an 
American  citizen.  But  he  never  referred  to  his 
personal  affairs." 

"  No,  I  did  not  know.    I  was  too  far  away. 

39 


HELEN 


When  we  returned  from  Siberia  the  children  were 
here  with  the  grandmother." 

Absorbed  in  her  recollections,  the  Princess  was 
silent.  Presently  Fearing  looked  up. 

"  I  think  you  can  afford  to  be  quite  frank  with 
me." 

She  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  what  to  say,  but  of  how 
to  say  it." 

"If  you  prefer,"  he  said,  sweeping  the  little 
cluster  of  dead  leaves  from  the  table,  "say  noth- 
ing." 

She  leaned  forward,  resting  her  chin  on  the  tips 
of  her  jewelled  fingers. 

"Is  it  not  strange  that  a  woman  who  is  a  wife 
and  mother  should  deny  to  her  son  the  right  to 
confer  these  blessings  on  another !  To  the  wife  she 
makes  no  objection.  Any  wife  is  an  intrusion. 
She  objects  to  the  marriage.  There  are  women 
like  that,  who  wish  to  keep  what  they  have,  who 
say,  '  If  there  had  been  no  wife  there  would  have 
been  no  accident/  That  is  the  way  a  woman 
reasons  about  another  woman  who  steals  affections 
which  do  not  belong  to  her!  But  there  were  the 
children.  One  cannot  ignore  two  children  who 
escaped  death  by  a  miracle.  So  she  receives  them. 
That  was  much,  for  Jack  was  a  baby,  and  a  baby 
disturbs  the  placidity  of  life.  Then  Jack  grows  up, 
and  there  is  an  interval  of  peace.  He  has  his 
lessons  —  and  Helen,  who  is  useful.  Helen  also 

40 


HELEN 


grows  up,  much  faster.  Men  cease  to  pat  her 
cheek  and  say  'what  a  pretty  child!'  They  look 
at  her  and  are  silent.  And  now,  after  sitting  in  a 
corner,  she  occupies  the  centre  of  the  stage.  Of 
this  crime  she  is  innocent,  but  she  commits  it 
with  every  word  and  gesture  —  even  when  she  is 
silent." 

11  Is  n't  crime  a  rather  big  word,  Princess?" 

The  white  shoulders  were  raised  significantly. 

"That  depends.  The  beggar  on  the  road  envies 
you  in  your  carriage,  and  envy  goes  off  in  the  air. 
You  and  he  go  your  separate  ways  and  forget 
each  other.  But  in  the  family  it  is  different.  One 
does  not  forget,  one  cherishes,  —  and  after  a  time, 
by  rubbing  continually  one  against  the  other, 
comes  fire,  and  the  pygmy  passion  of  the  road 
becomes  a  giant.  Do  not  imagine,"  she  added 
quickly,  "any  one  makes  a  confidante  of  me. 
Helen  is  too  proud,  and  there  is  no  pride  like  the 
pride  of  dependence.  A  woman  understands  what 
she  is  not  told.  Helen  has  her  faults;  oh,  great 
faults!  To  begin  with,  instead  of  beauty  she  has 
charm  —  too  much." 

She  caught  the  passing  expression  on  his  face 
and  her  voice  hardened. 

"You  think  it  is  ridiculous  to  envy  a  young  girl 
the  charm  which  belongs  to  her  age.  My  friend, 
it  is  not  the  charm  which  one  envies,  it  is  the  loss 
of  attentions  and  preferences  which  one  regrets  — 
and  resents.  A  woman  is  indifferent  to  all  that 


HELEN 


does  not  cross  her  frontier.  Oh,  yes,  the  faults  of 
her  age  and  qualities,  and  when  the  time  comes 
for  them  to  ripen  they  will  be  big  ones.  What  will 
you  do  with  her?  " 

A  little  girl,  having  eluded  the  Cerberus  at  the 
gate,  was  approaching  warily,  mumbling  furtively 
her  plaintive  story  of  desperate  need. 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  Princess,  fumbling  in 
her  gold-meshed  bag  for  the  petit  sou. 

"I  see  the  motor  is  ready,"  said  Fearing. 
"  Shall  we  take  the  upper  road  by  La  Turbie?" 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  If  she  expected 
another  answer,  she  made  no  sign,  and  went  in 
for  her  wraps. 

"  Really,  Princess,"  he  said  as  the  motor  swung 
into  the  road,  "I'm  tremendously  indebted  to 
you.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if 
you—" 

She  cut  him  short  with  a  laugh. 

"You  would  have  done  what  you  are  going 
to." 


V 

THE  Villa  Fontana  occupied  a  steep  slope  between 
the  precipices  of  a  rocky  promontory  and  the  sea. 
To  this  feature  of  the  ground  it  owed  its  terraces, 
its  exposure  to  the  sun,  its  shelter  from  the  winds 
which,  sweeping  from  the  north  over  its  protecting 
heights,  only  reached  the  sea  at  a  distance,  leaving 
a  broad  and  placid  band  of  color  along  the  fringe 
of  the  shore.  Carriages  were  forced  to  halt  on  the 
road  in  the  open  space  between  the  wing-walls 
of  its  massive  gates,  beyond  which  only  foot 
paths,  broken  by  steps,  led  down  to  the  house 
and  sea. 

Like  the  garden  the  house  also  accommodated 
itself  to  the  slope,  being  built  on  different  levels 
connected  by  stairs  and  passageways  which 
added  more  to  its  picturesqueness  than  to  its 
convenience.  From  the  hall,  cold  with  its  stone 
floor  and  marble  reliefs,  a  broad  stairway,  lined 
with  armor  and  weapons,  led  down  to  the  salon  — 
a  large  room  of  lofty  ceiling,  its  walls  warm  with 
the  deep  red  of  damask  and  its  low  French  win 
dows  opening  to  the  sea  and  sun.  Though  large,  it 
lacked  the  sense  of  spaciousness,  its  treasures  of 
wall  and  cabinet  suggesting  the  inability  to  resist 
the  habit  of  '  collecting.*  But  for  this  it  com 
pensated  by  its  air  of  intimacy,  the  proof  that  it 

43 


HELEN 


was  lived  in  and  not  consecrated  solely  to  pur 
poses  of  state. 

It  was  Mrs.  Lee's  day  at  home,  and  the  hum  of 
voices  came  through  the  glass  doors  as  Fearing 
followed  the  Princess  Ghica  down  the  stairs.  Lor 
gnette  in  hand,  she  entered  with  her  air  of  health 
and  good  spirits,  nodding  to  her  friends  as  she 
made  her  way  to  the  tea-table. 

"  I  have  brought  you  my  friend,  my  very  dear 
friend,"  she  said,  presenting  Fearing. 

"  We  used  to  know  each  other,"  said  Mrs.  Lee, 
looking  up  into  Fearing's  face  with  her  smile  of 
studied  cordiality  —  "if  you  have  not  forgotten." 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Because  you  were  but  a  boy,  and  because  I 
have  dropped  out  of  life  —  the  old  life.  It  was  a 
long  time  ago."  Hermite,  Secretary  to  the  Pre 
fect,  in  a  close-fitting  coat  and  flowered  waistcoat, 
came  up  softly,  bending  over  her  hand.  "Are  you 
passing  the  winter  in  the  Riviera?" 

His  inclusion  in  the  leisure  class  amused  him. 

"No,  only  a  few  days." 

He  had  often  seen  the  hunger  of  the  self- 
expatriated  for  even  a  passing  contact  with  the 
man  from  home.  Here  the  complete  detachment 
from  the  old  life  was  apparent.  Where,  he  won 
dered,  were  the  compensations!  Did  the  up 
rooted  plant  ever  reach  down  again  in  alien 
ground  below  the  shallow  crust  into  the  deep 
subsoil? 

44 


HELEN 


The  smile  had  passed  to  others,  and  he  moved 
on,  giving  way  to  new  arrivals.  The  Princess  at 
the  garden  window  was  beckoning  to  him. 

"Who  is  that  woman?"  whispered  a  young 
American  girl  sitting  beside  Mrs.  Lee,  a  note  of 
mingled  envy  and  disapprobation  in  her  voice. 

"What  woman,  my  dear  —  do  you  mean  the 
Princess  Ghica?" 

"Oh,  is  she  a  Princess!"  murmured  the  girl 
apologetically. 

"Come,"  said  the  Princess  to  Fearing,  "let  us 
find  Helen.  Give  me  your  arm,  the  path  is  steep." 
She  glanced  at  him  with  a  whimsical  smile.  "You 
must  not  think  so  loud." 

There  was  a  touch  of  motherhood,  of  affection 
ate  authority,  in  her  treatment  of  him  —  but  he 
took  good  care  that  she  did  not  see  he  was  aware 
of  it. 

"Was  I?  what  was  I  saying?" 

"Exiles!" 

It  was  quite  true.  She  had  crystallized  in  a 
single  word  all  he  had  been  thinking.  Cosmopoli 
tanism  was  bad  enough,  but  exiles!  What's 
Hecuba  to  them  or  they  to  Hecuba! 

"You  are  a  terrible  eavesdropper,  Princess." 

"  I  am  a  Russian.  I  marry  a  Roumanian;  I  live 
in  Paris,  London,  Rome;  but  I  remain  a  Russian." 

"Does  n't  Mrs.  Lee  remain  an  American?" 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows  with  a  little  moue  for 
answer. 

45 


HELEN 


"You  think,  then,  that  Americans  who  live 
abroad  lose  their  nationality?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  Americans  who  abandon  their  country 
do  so  because  they  do  not  like  the  life  there." 

"As  you  abandon  Russia." 

"No;  life  here  is  everywhere  essentially  the 
same.  We  migrate  for  change  of  scene,  for  amuse 
ment.  You  migrate  to  escape  conditions." 

"  Please  don't  include  me  in  your  indictment." 

"  Please  to  give  me  credit  for  a  little  discrimina 
tion,"  she  replied  tartly.  "I  am  well  aware  you 
are  only  too  anxious  to  get  back  to  your  bureau." 

A  heavy-featured  man,  with  a  full  beard  and 
malicious  eyes  under  his  thick  eyebrows,  the 
order  of  Ste.  Anne  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  was 
climbing  the  path  in  front  of  them  —  the  Russian 
Ambassador,  one  of  the  much-prized  ornaments 
of  Mrs.  Lee's  salon.  As  he  approached  he  raised 
his  hat  and  stopped,  lifting  the  Princess's  hand  to 
his  lips. 

"  I  was  hoping  to  see  you,  Princess,"  he  said  in 
Russian.  "Will  you  tell  the  Prince  I  have  some 
news  for  him?" 

The  smile  playing  about  his  full  lips  was  not 
reassuring.  She  was  on  the  point  of  questioning 
him,  but  the  smile  restrained  her;  and  without 
noticing  Fearing  he  passed  on,  leaning  heavily  on 
his  gold-knobbed  cane. 

"Which  of  you  is  persona  non  grata?"  laughed 
Fearing. 

46, 


HELEN 


She  flashed  him  a  withering  smile. 

"  He  was  four  years  in  Tokyo  and  pronounced 
Japanese  civilization  a  'bad  translation.'  On  his 
return  the  Emperor  asked  him  if  they  were  talk 
ing  war  in  Tokyo.  'Your  Majesty,'  he  replied, 
'one  does  not  fight  with  monkeys,  one  massacres 
them.'" 

The  path  they  were  following  ended  in  a  broad 
ledge  where  a  pavilion,  over  whose  red-tiled  roof 
poured  the  blossoms  of  a  white  wisteria,  high 
above  the  tops  of  the  ilexes  faced  the  wide  ex 
panse  of  the  sea.  From  the  open  space  in  front 
steps  led  steeply  down  through  the  dense  shrub 
bery,  between  whose  dark-green  foliage  bits  of 
blue  water  shone  like  turquoises.  A  half-dozen 
people  were  grouped  about  the  tea-table  behind 
the  brick  supporting  pillars  —  Madame  Hermite, 
a  fat  little  woman  under  an  immense  hat  of  nod 
ding  plumes;  her  son,  the  Secretary;  and  a  few 
men  of  the  younger  set  who  were  discussing  the 
coming  motor-boat  races  at  Monte  Carlo. 

Of  none  of  these  Fearing  took  much  notice,  so 
completely  did  Helen  dominate  his  attention. 
She  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  recognition,  one 
of  those  fleeting  changes  of  expression  which 
reveal  the  rapid  transition  of  feeling,  natural  and 
unrepressed. 

In  the  short  pause  of  conversation  which 
greeted  the  newcomers  he  saw  what  he  had  not 
seen  in  the  twilight  of  their  first  meeting  —  a 

47 


HELEN 


small  head  crowned  with  thick  hair  full  of  chang 
ing  lights  and  shades  which  no  single  color-word 
would  describe;  an  oval  face,  the  nose  slightly  re 
trousse,  adding  a  charming  expression  of  piquancy 
to  the  otherwise  regular  features;  the  mouth,  a 
little  small,  but  fresh  and  frank,  like  the  eyes. 
She  wore  a  soft  white  dress,  with  just  a  knot 
of  ribbon  at  the  throat,  its  simplicity  giving 
greater  contrast  to  the  distinction  of  the  slender 
figure. 

"What  an  entrancing  spot!"  exclaimed  the 
Princess,  wedging  herself  in  on  the  seat  between 
Helen  and  Madame  Hermite.  "  I  do  not  present 
Mr.  Fearing  to  you,  Helen,  because,  it  seems  — " 

"Jack  has  forestalled  you,"  said  Fearing,  in 
tercepting  her  reference  to  the  meeting  of  the 
previous  day. 

"Where  is  that  adorable  Jack?"  asked  the 
Princess,  squeezing  her  hand  through  the  opening 
of  her  glove  and  helping  herself  to  a  tart.  "If  I 
had  a  boy  like  that  —  no  sugar,  Helen,  you 
know." 

"You  adore  children,  Princess,"  smiled  Ma 
dame  Hermite  under  her  hat. 

"Yes,  madame,  like  the  rest  of  the  world  I 
adore  all  that  I  do  not  have.  Dimitri?"  —  in 
answer  to  Helen's  question  —  "no,  he  is  shooting 
pigeons.  The  poor  birds!  it  is  so  cruel." 

"Yet  you  shoot,  they  say,  even  better  than 
the  Prince,"  ventured  Hermite. 

48 


HELEN 


"Tea,  Mr.  Fearing?"  asked  Helen. 

"Nothing  for  me,  thank  you." 

The  Princess  offered  her  case.  "A  cigarette, 
then.  No?  They  say  many  foolish  things,  mon 
sieur,  but  they  do  not  say  that  I  slaughter  the 
innocents." 

"You  have  just  missed  the  Ambassador,"  said 
Madame  Hermite  affably.  She  spoke  with  a 
certain  air  of  proprietorship,  her  interest  in 
things  Russian  dating  from  the  recent  alliance. 
"A  most  broad-minded  man." 

"Humph!"  retorted  the  Princess  over  her  tart, 
"  broad-shouldered." 

"But  so  witty,"  rejoined  Madame  Hermite 
complacently. 

"Ah,  as  to  wit — "  the  Princess's  sentence 
ended  in  the  air. 

Helen  glanced  at  Julia.  What  was  the  matter? 
She  seemed  in  a  very  bad  humor. 

"You  must  admit  that,"  persisted  Madame 
Hermite,  always  tempted  into  conversational 
quagmires  beyond  her  depth,  "whether  you  agree 
with  him  or  not." 

"With  wit  one  neither  agrees  nor  disagrees, 
madame.  One  laughs  —  if  one  can." 

Helen  intervened. 

"You  too  know  Mr.  Fearing,  Tatia." 

The  Princess  threw  up  her  hands.  "Imagine 
where  I  last  saw  him !  at  an  official  dinner.  Oh,  I 
remember  well  that  dinner!" 


49 


HELEN 


"  One  dinner  is  so  like  another,"  sighed  Madame 
Hermite. 

"Not  this  dinner,  I  assure  you.  A  most  exqui 
site  dinner.  Served  to  perfection  —  with  water! 
How  is  one  to  talk  through  ten  courses  — " 

"I  remember  that  you  did,"  laughed  Fearing. 

"Then  I  am  sure  I  said  some  very  intemperate 
things." 

"Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Madame  Hermite, 
brightening,  "a  temperance  dinner,  a  dinner  of 
principle." 

"A  dinner  of  intolerance,"  snapped  the  Prin 
cess.  "Why  is  not  one  content  on  so  fine  an  occa 
sion  to  set  a  fine  example!  To  oblige  a  guest  to 
follow  it  is  to  revive  the  Inquisition." 

The  plumes  on  Madame Hermite's  hat  trembled. 
"When  I  think  of  all  our  poor  France  has  suffered, 
of  all  the  crimes  committed  by  absinthe  —  " 

"But  it  is  not  I  who  have  committed  these 
crimes,"  cried  the  Princess. 

Hermite  came  to  the  rescue. 

"To  prevent  crimes,  dear  madame,  one  must 
suppress  the  cause." 

"Well,  then,  suppress  also  money,  which  causes 
more  crime  than  absinthe,  and  love,  which  is  the 
cause  of  more  crime  than  either  —  suppress  that 
also." 

"Oh,  Princess,"  he  protested,  appealing  to 
Helen,  "you  calumniate  us." 

Erect,  her  small  head  thrown  back,  Helen  re- 

50 


HELEN 


pressed  an  ironical  smile.  Hermite,  his  monocle 
screwed  in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  examined  the 
two  women  critically  over  his  teacup.  The 
Princess,  plain  beyond  question,  but  so  piquante, 
her  head  set  so  well  on  her  shoulders,  and  her 
figure,  short,  but  so  faultlessly  dressed.  The 
other,  quite  another  type!  Slender,  almost  frail, 
but  full  of  nervous  energy,  with  the  fascination  of 
youth  untouched  by  knowledge  or  experience. 

"Before  suppressing  all  these  things  why  not 
weigh  the  happiness  they  are  responsible  for  — 
instead  of  the  misery?" 

"Dear  little  book-keeper!"  laughed  the  Prin 
cess,  patting  Helen's  hand  softly;  "if  there  is  any 
doubt,  we  will  give  them  the  benefit  of  it." 

Madame  Hermite,  shocked  that  a  young  girl 
should  permit  herself  any  opinion  whatever, 
drew  herself  up  majestically. 

"Miss  Lee,"  said  Fearing,  "will  you  not  do  the 
honors  of  the  garden  for  me?" 

"Do  you  really  wish  it?"  She  turned  to  the 
two  ladies.  "Will  you  come  with  us?" 

Madame  Hermite  excused  herself,  the  terraces 
were  so  fatiguing. 

"And  you,  Tatia?" 

"Let  us  see,  Monsieur  Hermite,  if  you  can 
make  a  second  cup  of  tea  for  me,"  said  the 
Princess,  not  troubling  herself  to  reply.  Helen 
looked  at  her  in  surprise.  It  was  so  unselfish  in 
her  to  keep  Madame  Hermite  company  —  and  so 


HELEN 


unlike  her!  All  her  ill-humor  had  suddenly 
vanished. 

The  Secretary  bowed,  following  the  pair  with 
his  eyes  as  they  disappeared  down  the  steps. 
"Little  coquette!"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

Madame  Hermite,  who  drew  the  line  rigidly 
between  the  privileges  of  the  married  and  single 
states,  closed  her  eyes  disapprovingly. 

"Young  girls  nowadays,"  she  confided  to  the 
Princess,  "are  so"  —  she  hesitated  for  the  fitting 
word,  but  fared  no  better  than  her  son  in  finding 
it —  "so  audacious." 


VI 

IT  was  no  new  experience  for  Helen  to  act  as 
cicerone  to  her  grandmother's  garden.  Tourists 
with  letters  of  introduction,  who  found  it  incon 
venient  to  conform  to  a  '  day  at  home  *  were  an 
almost  daily  trial.  There  were  also  distinguished 
guests  with  compensating  graces,  and  an  occa 
sional  learned  botanist  who  asked  nothing  but  the 
privilege  to  prowl  about  alone.  She  accepted  her 
charges  as  a  part  of  the  Villa  Fontana's  routine. 
But  the  garden,  always  on  parade,  had  gradually 
lost  all  its  intimacy,  and  she  herself  was  only  the 
introduction  to  the  absorbing  guest,  as  devoid  of 
personality  as  the  manikins  in  the  shop  windows 
of  Nice.  Even  the  bit  of  Roman  road,  which  had 
known  the  tread  of  the  legions  of  Caesar  and  the 
ragged  battalions  of  the  Corsican,  now  carefully 
guarded  from  profane  feet  by  an  iron  railing,  and 
for  antiquarians  the  Villa's  supreme  attraction, 
had  ceased  to  arouse  her  enthusiasm. 

But  to  Fearing's  invitation  she  responded  with 
a  thrill  of  expectation.  During  all  the  Princess's 
chatter  over  her  tea  she  had  been  saying  to  her 
self:  'Who  are  you?  and  what  do  you  want?'  He 
had  walked  in  at  dusk  the  day  before  with  her 
diamonds  in  his  pocket,  made  some  strange 
speeches,  and  disappeared  —  probably  forever. 

53 


HELEN 


And  now,  after  capturing  Jack's  heart,  he  comes 
back,  the  friend  of  Tatia.  He  did  not  look  like  a 
man  to  become  excited  over  the  latest  bulb  from 
Holland  or  the  newly  arrived  fern  from  Cochin- 
China.  She  was  willing  to  show  him  the  garden, 
because  she  was  sure  that  he  was  not  interested  in 
the  garden  at  all.  She  was  vaguely  conscious  that 
something  was  impending,  that  for  some  reason 
he  was  interested  in  her.  Why?  Perhaps  the 
garden  would  tell,  or  was  it  nothing  —  just 
another  bubble  from  her  own  heart,  that  bursts 
and  disappears! 

They  had  come  out  upon  a  seat  on  a  solitary 
spur  of  rock  by  the  shore.  Above  towered  the 
rugged  mountainside,  uncultivated,  its  rocky 
scars  covered  by  native  pines.  Below  shone  the 
sea,  its  shallows  overhung  by  wild  oleanders. 
Here  one  quite  forgot  the  flowering  borders 
between. 

He  had  not  been  very  communicative.  Con 
versation,  as  the  art  of  saying  something  with  no 
particular  object  in  view,  was  not  his  forte.  He 
was  standing  with  his  back  toward  her,  looking 
seaward,  as  she  had  stood  the  night  before,  and 
the  same  feeling  that  something  was  coming  in 
from  that  far  horizon  took  possession  of  her. 
His  back  was  like  a  wall,  a  shut  door,  barring  her 
from  what  she  did  not  know.  The  impulse  to 
pound  upon  it,  to  push  open  the  door,  to  see  what 
was  beyond  —  how  absurd  it  all  was ! 

54 


HELEN 


"You  haven't  a  word  of  praise  for  the  gar 
den?" 

"No,"  he  said,  turning  around. 

There  were  lines  in  his  face.  They  made  him 
look  older  than  by  any  possibility  he  could  be.  It 
was  the  same  reserved,  forceful  face  she  had  seen 
by  the  villa  gate,  conveying  the  same  sense  of 
mastery  and  purpose.  It  made  her  feel  weak  in 
comparison  —  but  she  liked  it. 

"And  you  dare  say  it!" 

"Does  it  require  courage?" 

"It  ought  to.  Don't  you  know  this  is  one  of 
the  famous  gardens  of  Europe?  Not  a  tree  or 
shrub  or  plant  is  missing." 

"So  the  Princess  told  me.  It's  quite  a  curios 
ity."  He  caught  the  faint  sunlight  of  the  smile 
passing  through  her  eyes.  "You  see,"  he  ex 
plained,  "  I  am  a  curiosity  myself.  I  like  things  in 
their  places  and  seasons  —  palms,  for  example, 
where  they  belong,  in  the  desert,  for  food  and 
clothing  and  shelter  from  the  sun.  Persons  too," 
he  added,  turning  back  to  the  sea,  "where  they 
belong." 

The  added  clause  perplexed  her,  and  she  harked 
back  to  the  garden. 

"You  must  n't  say  that  to  grandmamma.  It's 
treason." 

"I  won't.  I  am  saying  it  to  you  because  you 
agree  with  me." 

Instantly  she  was  serious. 

55 


HELEN 


"I  do,  I  do.  We  are  just  like  grandmamma's 
plants,  like  all  the  people  who  come  here  to 
play  in  the  sun  till  the  winter  is  over.  That 's  the 
world  we  live  in.  The  other  world,  the  real  world, 
that  gathers  the  olives  and  trims  the  vines,  we 
have  no  share  in  that."  , 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  have  a  share  in  that 
world  at  home?" 

"Home!  Why,  this  is  my  home." 

"To  be  sure  —  so  it  is." 

He  sat  down  beside  her.  He  was  thinking  hard. 

"You  were  very  good  to  trust  your  brother  last 
night  to  a  stranger.  He  is  a  very  interesting  boy." 

"  Even  a  very  interesting  boy  may  be  trusted  to 
a  stranger  who  finds  diamonds  and  returns  them 
promptly  to  their  owner  —  especially  when  that 
boy  is  Jack." 

"You  each  have  confidence  in  the  other,  I  see 
that."  And  then,  with  his  habitual  directness, 
"A  moment  ago  you  said  this  is  home.  Home  is 
the  native  soil.  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about 
your  brother  since  I  left  him  at  the  frontier 
yesterday,  and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  home  is  his  own  country.  What  do  you 
think  about  it?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  He  was 
plunging  again  into  the  heart  of  things.  But  she 
was  not  yet  ready  to  take  him  seriously. 

"I  think  he  agrees  with  you  —  and  that  it  is 
quite  impossible." 

56 


HELEN 


"Why?" 

Was  he  actually  going  to  make  her  tell  him  why ! 
Her  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  You  must  ask  my  grandmother,  Mr.  Fearing." 

"  I  shall.  And  I  am  going  to  propose  to  her  that 
he  should  go  back  with  me."  To  watch  the 
changing  expressions  on  her  face  was  pure  enjoy 
ment.  "That  seems  to  you  a  very  strange  propo 
sition.  It  is  not,  it  is  a  serious  one.  I  came  here 
this  afternoon  on  purpose  to  make  it  —  first  to 
you,  and  then,  if  you  approve  of  it,  to  your 
grandmother.  You  were  in  America  when  you 
were  a  child.  Do  you  remember  your  uncle, 
Hector  de  Chavigny?" 

Remember  him! 

"Monsieur  de  Chavigny  is  dead,"  she  said, 
holding  on  to  herself. 

"Yes.  I  have  his  will  in  my  pocket.  Would  you 
like  to  see  it?  You  have  the  right  to."  The  fog 
was  beginning  to  clear  away.  She  sat  rigid,  not 
moving  a  muscle,  her  hands  clasped  about  her 
knee.  "He  has  left  his  property  to  you  two  — 
you  and  Jack." 

Property!  The  thing  given  made  at  first  no 
impression.  But  the  giving !  She  was  back  again, 
a  child,  in  the  past,  when  the  world  was  full  of 
love.  Death  had  severed  the  last  link  with  that 
world,  but  love  remained!  In  her  memory  her 
uncle  was  a  wonderful  being,  associated  with  all 
the  joys  of  an  almost  forgotten  childhood,  but  a 

57 


HELEN 


childhood  which  came  back  to  her  at  the  mere 
mention  of  his  name.  He  had  rarely  written,  but 
he  had  not  forgotten!  Her  heart  leaped  at  the 
thought.  And  then  the  past  faded  away  and  the 
new  horizons  opened  slowly,  the  wonderful,  in 
credible  horizons.  She  was  sitting  where  she  had 
so  often  sat  with  Jack,  before  that  empty  line 
dividing  sea  and  sky  —  and  now  there  was  a 
Beyond;  not  of  dreams,  of  realities.  She  had 
thought,  as  Youth  is  prone  to,  that  if  ever  any 
thing  great  came  to  break  the  monotony,  it  would 
come  as  Royalty  comes,  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets 
—  and  it  had  slipped  in  quietly  at  afternoon  tea. 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly,  the  master  thought 
on  her  lips. 

"Will  there  be  enough  to  repay  grand 
mamma?" 

He  checked  the  short,  derisive  laugh  with  a 
dry  smile. 

"Quite  enough,  if  that  is  a  debt  she  cares  to 
acknowledge." 

"  Please  —  wait  —  I  must  think  —  and  I  can 
not,  I  cannot." 

She  went  to  the  brink  of  the  path.  The  ripple 
of  the  waves  curling  about  the  rocks  came  up  to 
her  through  the  oleanders,  the  same  waves  that 
had  talked  to  her  before  in  meaningless  speech, 
now  full  of  alluring  promises.  She  let  them  speak 
to  her,  listening,  listening  heedless  of  the  man 
behind  her. 

58 


HELEN 


Fearing  watched  her  in  silence.  If  it  had  been 
the  decent  thing  to  do  he  would  have  stolen  away. 
Perhaps  it  was.  Trouble, whether  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
asks  for  solitude. 

He  was  naturally  given  to  quick  decisions,  to 
rapid  judgments.  They,  and  a  facile  grasp  of 
conditions,  had  been  the  basis  of  his  success  in 
life.  He  made  mistakes,  as  other  men  did,  but  he 
did  not  often  suffer  from  perplexity.  He  had 
wanted  to  open  himself  the  door  to  the  new 
horizons,  for  the  mere  selfish  pleasure  of  it  — 
horizons  not  so  clearly  defined  as  those  he  fore 
saw  for  Jack.  And  what  he  had  wanted  to  do  he 
had  done.  He  had  taken  Jack's  hand  in  his  be 
fore  they  parted  at  the  St.  Louis  bridge.  Once 
again  the  purely  business  side  of  his  mission  was 
fading  into  the  background.  No,  he  was  not 
thinking  of  the  Princess's  words,  that  some  day  a 
woman  would  smile  upon  him,  but  somehow  it 
seemed  as  if  another  hand  —  he  stopped  thinking. 

"I  am  going  to  Mrs.  Lee  now.  Will  you  come 
with  me?" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  turned  quickly. 
He  hardly  recognized  her  face.  It  was  like  a 
flower  opened  overnight,  bewildered  by  the  sun. 

"I  never  could  be  separated  from  Jack." 

"  No,  of  course  not."  It  was  new  to  him  not  to 
know  exactly  what  he  was  saying. 

"Yes,  take  me  back,  please.  I  want  to  see 
Jack  —  I  want  to  find  Tatia." 

'59 


HELEN 


The  Princess  was  waiting  alone  at  the  head  of 
the  steps. 

"What!"  she  cried  in  her  high  voice,  "tears! 
Nonsense!"  and  took  the  trembling  form  in  her 
arms. 

Fearing  walked  on  alone  to  the  villa.  At  the 
door  he  met  Jack. 

"Hullo,"  said  Jack;  "where 's  Helen?" 

"She's  coming.   She'll  be  here  in  a  moment." 

Jack  was  beaming. 

"There  was  an  American  girl  here  this  after 
noon,"  he  said,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "She  made  an 
awful  break.  She  wanted  to  know  if  Aunt  Tatia 
was  a  real  Princess." 

"You  call  her  aunt,  do  you?"  said  Fearing. 

"Yes.  She  isn't  a  real  aunt,  you  know.  We 
just  call  her  so  because  we  have  n't  got  any." 

"  I  see.  And  what  did  you  say  to  the  American 
girl?" 

"I  did  n't  say  anything,  but  I'm  going  to  tell 
Aunt  Tatia  she  has  got  to  wear  a  big  P  on  her 
blouse.  Here  they  come.  Helen!  Grandma's  in 
a  terrible  stew  about  you.  Everybody's  gone 
this  ever  so  long." 

She  stooped  and  kissed  the  boy. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  whispered.  "You've 
been  crying." 


VII 

LIFE  in  the  Villa  Fontana  had  long  since  settled 
into  a  deadly  routine. 

Precisely  at  nine  every  morning  Mrs.  Lee's 
maid  brought  the  tea  and  toast.  Jack's  morning 
habits,  like  the  sun's,  were  irrepressible.  In 
younger  days  he  had  invaded  Helen's  room  and 
bed,  even  before  the  sun,  in  consequence  of  which, 
as  also  from  a  desperate  love  for  each  other's 
society,  later  years  found  them  disputing  break 
fast  with  the  wasps  on  the  terrace  —  a  breakfast 
usually  preceded  by  a  bath  and  contest  in  stone- 
throwing  in  a  state  bordering  on  nature  at  a 
point  on  the  shore  Jack  had  named  the  Smuggler's 
Cave  and  invested  with  imaginary  and  bloody 
legends.  This  scandalous  proceeding,  however, 
once  discovered,  had  been  summarily  suppressed. 

Precisely  at  eleven  Mrs.  Lee  made  the  grand 
round  with  the  head  gardener,  a  tedious  dragging 
tour  of  minute  observations  studiously  avoided  by 
Jack,  who  preferred  even  lessons  to  escort  duty  — 
a  duty  devolving  on  Helen. 

Precisely  at  half  after  noon  a  Japanese  gong 
announced  luncheon,  and  thereafter  the  day  de 
generated  for  Jack  into  'nothing  to  do,'  and  Mrs. 
Lee  retired  for  the  nap  preparatory  to  possible 
callers. 

61 


HELEN 


Reception  days,  although  partially  redeemed  by 
the  absence  of  lessons,  were  black  days  in  Jack's 
calendar,  interfering  as  they  did,  now  that  Helen 
was  'grown  up'  and  drafted  into  society,  with 
the  freedom  of  excursions  into  the  country. 

In  earlier  nursery  times  wearisome  promenades 
in  the  company  of  a  maid  or  tutor  had  been  the 
children's  chief  recreation.  To  these  had  suc 
ceeded  days  of  wider  liberty,  daring  sorties  be 
yond  prescribed  limits,  productive  of  many 
scoldings,  false  alarms,  and  anxiety  —  a  liberty 
finally  definitely  won  by  sheer  persistence  in 
wrongdoing  and  Jack's  assertion  that  'nothing 
could  possibly  happen,'  and  later  lost  in  the  in 
terests  of  society.  Jack's  active  mind  was  chiefly 
concerned  with  schemes  for  getting  away  from 
'home,'  a  lamentable  state  of  mind  to  which 
home  tyrants  are  singularly  blind,  preferring  to  see 
in  all  such  impulses  the  workings  of  original  sin. 

Dependence  upon  each  other  for  all  that  Jack 
called  '  fun '  had  brought  about  an  absolute  sym 
pathy  between  them.  They  had  exchanged  views 
of  persons  and  life  at  night  under  the  counterpane. 
The  fact  that  Helen  now  wore  long  dresses  and 
received  with  grandmamma  had  made  no  breach 
in  their  intimacy,  Monsieur  Hermite's  attentions 
and  flowered  waistcoat,  Jack's  especial  scorn, 
notwithstanding.  In  spite  of  the  difference  in 
years  he  played  the  role  of  protector  and  master, 
even  to  occasional  bullying,  the  result  of  a  sense 

62 


HELEN 


of  masculine  superiority  not  inconsistent  with 
passionate  worship. 

The  recent  arrival  of  the  Princess  on  the  scene 
had  broken  some  of  the  chains  and  swept  some  of 
the  cobwebs  from  the  mental  atmosphere  of  the 
villa.  For  Helen  she  was  a  precious  link  with  her 
mother.  Moreover,  she  knew  her  French  grand 
mother,  whom  Helen  had  clothed  with  imaginary 
qualities  by  way  of  contrast  with  those  near  at 
hand.  Large-hearted,  outspoken,  and  superior  to 
trifles,  Tatia  had  flooded  the  leaden  landscape 
with  sunshine,  and  also  stirred  a  quickening 
appetite  for  the  larger  world  in  which  she  moved, 
a  stimulant  productive  of  both  cheer  and  restless 
ness. 

Routine  being  easily  disturbed  by  trifles,  on  this 
particular  afternoon  Mrs.  Lee's  temper  had  been 
ruffled.  Jack  had  discovered  the  fact,  but  his 
buoyant  nature  floated  lightly  on  troubled  waters. 

It  was  a  trifle  that  Helen  should  linger  so  long 
in  the  garden,  where  the  inaugural  of  a  second 
tea-table  had  been  grudgingly  conceded.  The 
Princess  Ghica  was  necessarily  a  privileged  guest 
not  amenable  [to  formal  standards;  but  it  was 
unpardonable  in  Mr.  Fearing  to  vanish  without 
taking  leave.  If  he  had  not  done  so  it  was 
equally  unpardonable  that  he  should  devote  the 
entire  afternoon  to  Helen.  Mrs.  Lee  was  making 
these  reflections  when  the  door  opened  and 
Fearing  came  in. 

63 


HELEN 


The  tea-table  manner  had  disappeared.  She 
struck  him  forcibly  as  a  rather  grim  old  lady. 
But  he  was  determined  to  ignore  both  superficial 
signs  and  glimpses  below  the  surface.  Grand 
mothers  the  world  over  are  supposed  to  rejoice  in 
the  good  fortune  of  their  grandchildren.  It  was 
incredible  that  it  should  be  otherwise.  Besides, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  was  it  not  a  pure 
matter  of  business? 

Jack,  mystified  by  the  tears,  with  a  keen  scent 
for  all  forms  of  excitement,  whispered  as  they  went 
in,  " What's  up,  Helen?"  She  pressed  his  hand 
for  answer. 

Fearing  felt  instinctively  that  he  had  to  do  with 
enmity,  that  his  message  would  be  resented,  and 
that  resentment  would  fall  upon  the  messenger. 
Having  no  tact  in  dealing  with  nettles,  he  plunged 
in  straightforwardly  as  usual. 

"I  have  been  trespassing  on  your  hospitality, 
Mrs.  Lee,"  he  began,  "and  I  am  a  deliberate 
offender.  The  truth  is  I  am  the  bearer  of  news, 
of  a  document  —  from  the  late  Monsieur  de 
Chavigny." 

The  manner  stiffened  perceptibly. 

"I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  Monsieur  de 
Chavigny 's  acquaintance,  Mr.  Fearing." 

"No,  naturally,  since  for  the  last  twenty  years 
or  more  he  resided  in  New  York." 

"The  important  thing,"  blurted  out  the  Prin 
cess,  who  had  been  restraining  herself  all  the  after- 

64 


HELEN 


noon,  "is  that  he  is  dead  and  that  he  has  left  his 
money,  much  money,  to  Helen  and  Jack.*' 

A  pair  of  unflinching  steel-grey  eyes  were 
looking  into  Fearing's.  It  occurred  to  him  to 
doubt  Monsieur  de  Chavigny 's  right  to  die  or  to 
make  a  will  at  all. 

"This  is  most  extraordinary.  Monsieur  de 
Chavigny  has  never  to  my  knowledge  manifested 
any  interest  in  my  grandchildren." 

"At  all  events  he  has  not  forgotten  them," 
said  Fearing  cheerfully,  ignoring  the  stress  on  the 
possessive  pronoun,  "as  this  will  show  you."  She 
took  the  proffered  envelope,  letting  it  fall  into  her 
lap.  "I  am  at  the  Majestic  in  Nice,  and  at  your 
service  at  any  time.  Perhaps  to-morrow  would 
be  agreeable  to  you,  for  I  am  expecting  at  any 
moment  to  be  called  to  London." 

"Pray  sit  down,  Mr.  Fearing"  —  reaching  for 
her  spectacles  —  "in  that  case,  why  not  to 
day?" 

"Much  better  to-day,"  assented  the  Princess; 
and,  making  an  effort  to  introduce  an  appropriate 
allegro,  "let  us  thank  God  Monsieur  de  Chavigny 
cannot  change  his  mind  overnight." 

Taking  the  envelope  from  her  lap  Mrs.  Lee 
looked  up  over  the  rim  of  her  spectacles. 

"Have  you  informed  the  children,  Mr.  Fear 
ing?" 

"Not  in  detail.  It  is  quite  in  order  for  you  to 
do  so." 

65 


HELEN 


She  opened  the  envelope  without  replying.  He 
studied  her  face  as  she  read,  turning  the  pages  over 
slowly  —  an  unemotional  face,  with  that  mixture 
of  will  and  indecision  indicative  of  stubbornness. 
Before  the  last  page  fell  into  her  lap  the  silence 
had  become  oppressive. 

''Grandmamma!"  cried  Helen  impulsively. 

"This  means  much  to  the  children"  —  without 
noticing  the  appeal  —  "it  also  means  much  to  me. 
It  raises  many  questions." 

"Does  it  not  also  solve  some?"  suggested 
Fearing. 

"What  ones,  Mr.  Fearing?" 

"Mrs.  Lee,"  —  he  was  treading  on  firmer 
ground  now  that  heart-expansions  were  ruled  out 
of  court,  —  "Miss  Lee  is  of  age.  As  executor  it 
will  be  my  duty  and  pleasure  to  place  at  her 
immediate  disposal  her  share  of  the  income  from 
her  uncle's  estate.  As  to  her  brother,  since  you 
have  been  so  frank  as  to  ask  me  a  direct  question, 
you  will  permit  me  to  answer  it,  I  am  sure,  with 
equal  frankness." 

"  Do,  I  am  waiting  to  hear  what  you  are  think 
ing  of." 

"  I  am  thinking  that  he  is  to  grow  to  be  a  man, 
and  should  have  the  opportunities,  the  associa 
tions,  the  preparation  to  enable  him  to  do  a 
man's  work  and  meet  a  man's  responsibilities." 

"  You  mean  that  he  should  return  to  America." 

Her  quick  penetration  took  him  by  surprise. 

66 


HELEN 


"I  have  foreseen  that,"  she  went  on  quietly. 
"  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  this  is  no  place  for 
him.  I  have  known  it  for  a  long  time.  I  know, 
too,  he  will  be  delighted.  Have  you  conversed 
with  John"  —  she  never  called  him  Jack —  "on 
the  subject?" 

Being  very  slow  to  wrath,  Fearing  smiled.  "  No, 
but  I  have  been  greatly  tempted  to." 

"I  can  understand  that.  John  makes  friends 
easily."  She  was  folding  and  unfolding  the  pages 
in  her  lap.  "I  am  endeavoring  to  look  things  in 
the  face."  Her  manner  softened.  "  I  am  a  little 
confused.  My  life  is  a  quiet  one,  and  the  children 
have  been  a  grave  responsibility.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  Monsieur  de  Chavigny  has  increased  or 
lightened  it.  I  have  realized  for  some  time  that 
John  needed  a  man's  guidance.  Perhaps"  —  the 
ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  over  her  face  —  "the  man 
is  found.  May  I  ask  —  pardon  the  question  — • 
are  you  married,  Mr.  Fearing?" 

He  was  at  a  loss  to  fathom  the  implication,  but 
responded  gallantly. 

"No;  there  is  no  Mrs.  Fearing,  but  there  is  a 
Mrs.  Lee." 

"Thank  you.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  con 
sidered,  and  perhaps  it  is  better,  as  you  suggested, 
to  defer  till  to-morrow  —  you  said  the  Majestic, 
I  believe." 

"Yes,  the  Majestic." 

He  was  genuinely  glad  for  the  dismissal.    Jack 

67 


HELEN 


started  to  follow  him,  but  Helen  held  him  back, 
and  he  went  out  alone  in  the  tense  silence. 

At  the  villa  gate  he  sat  down  on  the  stone 
bench  where  he  had  waited  for  Helen,  to  wait  for 
the  Princess.  The  late  afternoon  was  just  at  the 
turning-point  when  birds  seek  their  nests  and 
lights  along  the  shore  begin  to  struggle  with  the 
twilight.  He  lit  his  cigar,  leaning  forward  on  his 
knees.  ' '  Good  Heavens !  what  a  woman ! "  he  mur 
mured.  A  colony  of  small  red  ants  were  toiling 
aimlessly  between  his  feet.  He  wondered  as  he 
watched  them  what  was  going  on  in  the  room  he 
had  just  left.  At  the  sound  of  approaching  foot 
steps  he  looked  up,  expecting  to  see  the  Princess. 

It  was  Helen. 

He  threw  away  his  cigar  and  stood  up. 

"Mr.  Fearing." 

"Yes,  Miss  Lee." 

"You  told  grandmamma  I  had  the  right  to 
some  of  Uncle  Hector's  money." 

"Why  certainly  —  yes." 

"  I  want  some  of  it  now." 

For  a  moment  he  was  completely  taken  aback. 
The  face  was  so  pale  and  the  voice  so  resolute  that 
the  inclination  to  smile  died  instantly. 

"There  isn't  the  slightest  reason  —  in  fact 
your  wishes  are  an  order.  I  will  make  the  neces 
sary  arrangements  at  once." 

"You  said  you  might  go  to  London  any  mo 
ment.  Can't  you  make  them  now  —  to-night?" 

68 


HELEN 


"To-night!"  he  said,  thrown  off  his  guard. 
He  thought  for  a  moment,  the  anxious  eyes  fixed 
on  his.  "There  isn't  any  ink  within  reach,  is 
there?" 

"There's  the  visitors'  book  in  the  lodge." 

He  went  in,  took  his  check-book  from  his 
pocket  and  began  to  write  rapidly. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  check  is? "  he  asked. 

"No." 

"Well,  put  your  name  on  the  back  of  this  and 
give  it  to  the  Princess  —  or  Dimitri,  he  will  ar 
range  it  for  you." 

"Shall  I  write  my  real  name?" 

"Your  real  name,  why,  yes,  of  course." 

He  had  not  intended  she  should  do  so  now,  but 
carried  along  by  the  tenacity  of  her  purpose  he 
yielded  the  pen  and  she  wrote  her  name  firmly 
where  he  directed  —  H£lene  Lee. 

"Now,  don't  lose  it." 

"  I  shall  not  lose  it,"  she  said,  pushing  it  out  of 
sight  in  her  corsage. 

"You  are  not  going  to  do  anything  rash,  are 
you?" 

"No." 

"It's  just  for  frocks,  then,"  attempting  pleas 
antry—"  or  isn't  it?" 

"Perhaps.  You  said  it  was  mine.  I  haven't 
got  to  thank  you." 

"No;  thanks  are  entirely  out  of  place." 

"But   I   do"  —  she  essayed   a  fugitive   little 

69 


HELEN 


smile,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched,  and  she 
was  gone,  leaving  him  staring  after  her. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Princess  appeared,  out 
of  breath. 

"Where's  Helen?" 

"She  is -evidently  not  here,  Princess.  May  I 
smoke?" 

"Do,  and  give  me  your  light.  What  a  comfort 
it  is!"  she  said,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "I  am 
suffocated!  What  do  you  think  now  of  grand 
mothers!" 

He  made  no  reply  and  asked  no  questions, 
helping  her  silently  into  the  motor,  and  the  car  be 
gan  the  descent  to  Mentone.  They  scarcely  spoke 
till  it  slowed  down  before  the  hotel  entrance. 

"Is  her  name  Helen  or  H61£ne?"  he  asked, 
giving  her  his  hand  to  alight. 

"Helene,  after  her  mother.  But  grandmothers 
have  scissors  for  offending  vowels.  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"Nothing.  A  little  matter  of  business  with  a 
very  unbusinesslike  person.  She  will  tell  you. 
You  will  dine  with  me  to-night,  you  and  Dimitri, 
won't  you?  Shall  we  say  nine  o'clock?" 

The  portier  and  a  half-dozen  satellites  had 
gathered  like  a  swarm  of  bees.  She  had  to  content 
her  curiosity  for  the  moment  with  a  nod  of  ac 
ceptance,  and  the  revolving  door  separated  them. 
Just  within  she  waited,  but  his  man  had  joined 
him,  and  she  went  on. 

70 


HELEN 


"A  cable,  sir." 

He  opened  it  by  the  side  light  of  the  motor. 

"As  I  expected,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"It's  barely  seven.  Get  a  reservation  for  the 
night  express  to  Paris  and  wire  London  I  am 
starting  to-night.  Be  quick  about  it  —  I  have  a 
letter  to  dictate." 

Then  he  went  to  the  restaurant  and  ordered 
dinner. 


VIII 

IT  was  not  because  the  Princess's  mind  was  dor 
mant  that  the  drive  home  was  a  silent  one. 
Wrapped  in  her  furs  beside  Fearing,  she  was 
building  castles  in  the  air,  and  bits  of  solid 
ground  were  forming  in  the  vast  spaces  of  her 
imagination  before  the  lights  of  Nice  came  into 
view.  What  was  the  news  at  which  the  Ambassa 
dor  had  hinted?  What  had  Monsieur  de  Cha- 
vigny's  money  to  say  for  her?  About  these  two 
centres  her  thoughts  revolved  like  the  nebulae 
about  twin  suns. 

His  Excellency  was  no  longer  on  the  active  list. 
He  was  enjoying  that  Indian  summer  of  official 
life  when  one  is  honored  and  paid  for  what  one 
has  done  and  is  relieved  of  all  necessity  of  doing 
anything  further.  But  he  was  in  close  touch  with 
the  Home  Office.  That  he  really  had  news  of 
supreme  importance  for  her  she  was  confident. 
She  was  also  confident  that  in  his  estimation  it 
would  not  be  agreeable  to  her.  There  was  a 
malicious  satisfaction  in  his  unctuous  smile  and 
veiled  announcement  thoroughly  characteristic  of 
him.  Having  no  longer  any  expectation  of  receiv 
ing  favors  from  Fortune,  he  found  a  special 
pleasure  in  the  frowns  bestowed  by  that  goddess 
on  his  fellows.  He  was  well  aware  of  Dimitri's 

72 


HELEN 


desire  for  an  appointment  in  the  Home  Office; 
that  Petersburg  —  that  is,  home  —  had  long  been 
the  Mecca  of  her  own  diplomatic  ambition.  He 
had  even  fanned  the  flame  of  her  hope  gently. 
Soured  by  retirement,  what  a  delight  it  would 
be  to  him  to  extinguish  it  with  equal  gentle 
ness  ! 

If  Petersburg  was  not  to  be,  what  then?  She 
scanned  the  diplomatic  horizon  in  search  of  signs. 
Her  cousin  Alexis  was  Ambassador  in  Paris.  He 
was  particularly  fond  of  Dimitri,  and  fondness 
was  proverbially  near-sighted.  He  had  often  ex 
pressed  the  wish  to  have  Dimitri  on  his  staff.  It 
would  be  just  like  Alexis's  particular  brand  of 
affection  to  ignore  her  private  passion  for  home. 
It  was  the  most  likely  thing  that  could  have 
happened!  Alexis  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  and  he 
was  a  bachelor.  A  vision  of  the  Princess  Ghica  at 
the  head  of  the  Embassy  table  flitted  through  her 
mind.  Of  course  that  would  mean  no  real  promo 
tion  for  Dimitri  at  the  far  end  of  the  table,  but 
Dimitri  was  so  unselfish !  his  chief  thought  would 
be  her  disappointment.  And,  after  all,  Paris  was 
infinitely  preferable  to  some  insignificant  distant 
post,  even  as  chief  of  mission. 

Intuitions  and  convictions  being  synonyms  in 
the  Princess's  dictionary,  she  had  reconciled  her 
self  to  disappointment  before  Nice  was  in  sight, 
and  had  rehearsed  an  imaginary  scene  with 
Dimitri.  Dimitri  was  so  philosophical !  She  knew 

73 


HELEN 


exactly  how  he  would  break  the  news  and  how 
astonished  he  would  be  at  her  reception  of  it.  It 
was  here  that  Monsieur  de  Chavigny's  money 
came  to  the  rescue  in  alleviating  disappointment, 
putting  castles  in  the  air  on  solid  foundations. 
For  Tatia  was  quite  as  unselfish  as  Dimitri. 

On  their  own  account,  as  well  as  for  their 
mother's  sake,  Helen  and  Jack  were  very  dear  to 
her.  She  had  lost  no  time  after  her  arrival  in  Nice 
in  taking  them  both  to  her  heart,  and  at  the  same 
time  fathoming  the  troubled  waters  of  the  Villa 
Fontana.  But  just  then  she  was  a  rolling  stone, 
gathering  no  moss.  How  many  projects,  more 
distinguished  for  their  altruism  than  their  practi 
cability,  she  had  conceived  and  abandoned!  In 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  all  these  air  castles 
assumed  substance  and  reality  under  the  magic 
touch  of  Monsieur  de  Chavigny's  dollars.  Jack's 
future  was  as  good  as  settled  —  he  would  go  to 
America  with  Mr.  Fearing.  And  Helen  —  it  was 
at  this  stage  of  her  reflections  that  Fearing,  hear 
ing  a  smothered  laugh  in  the  furs  beside  him, 
asked :  — 

1  'What  is  it,  Princess?" 

" Nothing,"  she  said.  "I  was  thinking  of  that 
bridge  of  yours.  I  have  a  mind  to  cross  it  myself." 

She  had  accepted  Fearing's  invitation  to  dinner, 
and  while  the  maid  was  at  work  over  her  hair  she 
went  on  with  her  castle-building.  As  the  dinner 
hour  drew  near  and  Dimitri  did  not  appear,  her 

74 


HELEN 


scanty  stock  of  patience  ran  lower  and  lower. 
Patience  was  not  in  the  catalogue  of  her  virtues. 
At  quarter  to  nine  she  dismissed  her  maid,  broke 
off  a  carnation  for  Dimitri's  button-hole,  and 
went  to  the  door  of  his  dressing-room. 

To  the  world  at  large  Demetrius  Ghica  was  an 
enigma.  He  was  not  fond  of  its  society.  People, 
Tatia  excepted,  bored  him.  Women  liked  him, 
perhaps  because  of  the  indifference  palpable  under 
his  politeness.  Men  liked  him  for  his  unaffected- 
ness,  generosity,  and  easy  good-nature,  the  latter 
—  according  to  Tatia  —  the  fruit  of  a  lazy  habit 
of  mind  rather  than  of  virtuous  intention.  Yet 
he  was  a  hard  worker  and  fond  of  books,  often 
confounding  the  glib  of  tongue  with  unexpected 
information.  Cards  he  detested,  and  of  conversa 
tional  nothings  he  had  only  a  limited  stock  of  the 
conventional  variety.  "Dimitri  and  I  are  such 
good  friends,"  the  Princess  explained,  "  because  it 
is  so  difficult  to  make  him  open  his  mouth."  His 
dislike  for  functions  was  notorious,  yet  he  was  in 
demand,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  was 
generally  found  by  his  hostess  after  dinner  en 
sconced  with  a  book  in  a  remote  corner  of  the 
library.  He  had  two  hobbies,  sports  and  Tatia. 
Tatia  was  fond  of  the  world,  of  jewels  and  the 
people  that  wore  them;  but  she  could  renounce 
the  world  for  the  wild,  dropping  maid  and  jewels 
at  the  edge  of  civilization  to  plunge  with  him  into 
regions  tenanted  only  by  primitive  man.  Tatia, 

75 


HELEN 


too,  possessed  that  secret  of  good  comradeship, 
tolerance.  She  could  let  him  alone,  a  debt  he 
repaid  by  accompanying  her  unasked  where  no 
pleadings  could  have  dragged  him.  Immensely 
grateful  to  her  for  this  tolerance,  he  was  also 
immensely  proud  of  her,  of  all  the  qualities  in  her 
which  he  did  not  share.  Of  her  judgment  he  was 
sceptical,  but  this  did  not  seriously  impair  his 
confidence,  for  when  she  did  not  go  logically  to 
the  right  end  she  somehow  managed  to  blunder 
there. 

When  she  opened  the  door  of  his  dressing-room 
he  was  tying  his  cravat  imperturbably  before  the 
pier-glass. 

"Tatia,"  he  said,  meeting  her  eyes  in  the 
mirror,  "have  you  seen  the  Ambassador?'* 

"What  is  it,"  she  asked,  slipping  into  the  near 
est  chair;  "Chili  or  Peru?" 

In  the  mistaken  idea  that  suspense  softens  a 
blow  he  had  intended  to  temporize.  The  prompt 
surrender  of  Petersburg  for  Peru  staggered  him. 

"Try  again,  Tatia;  you  are  leagues  out  of  the 


way." 
"Paris." 


He  was  accustomed  to  intuitions.  They  were  a 
daily  occurrence.  But  her  nonchalance!  She  did 
not  appear  to  be  in  need  of  consolation,  and  he 
had  laid  in  a  plentiful  supply  of  it!  Unable  to 
detach  himself  from  the  role  of  consoler,  he  pro 
ceeded  cheerfully. 


HELEN 


"Try  to  be  contented,  Tatia.  You  see  I  am." 

"Dimitri,  you  are  contented  because  you  are 
lazy.  I  am  contented  because  I  have  a  good 
disposition." 

She  was  sitting  erect  on  the  edge  of  her  chair, 
unruffled  and  mystifying.  For  lack  of  the  indigna 
tion  he  had  been  prepared  to  appease,  he  let  escape 
a  little  of  his  own. 

"  It  'sail  Alexis's  doing—  " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"Have  you  told  Fearing?" 

"Fearing?  No,  I  haven't  seen  him.  What's 
Fearing  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"We  are  dining  with  him  to-night.  How  it  will 
amuse  him!"  she  soliloquized. 

"  It  certainly  amused  the  Ambassador,"  he  said 
sarcastically.  "He  was  delighted.  He  even  con 
gratulated  me." 

The  white  shoulders  lifted  disdainfully. 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"That  you  would  be  radiant." 

She  laughed  approvingly.  "The  old  hypocrite! 
I  am." 

He  did  not  understand,  but  the  habit  of  taking 
her  good  nature  for  granted  asserted  itself. 

"Tatia,  you  are  a  jewel." 

"Dimitri,"  she  said,  pulling  him  down  and 
fastening  the  carnation  in  his  coat,  "when  you 
pretend  to  understand  you  are  positively  ludi 
crous.  Listen." 

77 


HELEN 


She  began  with  encomiums  of  Paris.  It  was  not 
Petersburg,  but  it  had  its  advantages.  Could  he 
possibly  have  a  better  chief  than  Alexis?  His 
thoughtful,  rather  sleepy  eyes  on  her  sparkling 
ones,  he  listened  much  as  a  child  listens  to  a 
beloved  story-teller,  waiting  for  the  climax.  He 
did  not  become  excited  over  Chavigny's  will.  He 
was  only  mildly  interested  in  Jack's  going  to 
America.  It  was  quite  the  thing  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  He  nodded  appreciatively  over  the 
description  of  the  interview  in  the  Villa  Fontana. 
"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  have  thought  of?  — 
asking  Helen  to  stay  with  us  this  winter  in  Paris. " 
At  last  he  understood. 

" That's  a  large  responsibility,  Tatia." 

"Yes." 

"You  will  have  to  do  most  of  the  chaperoning 
yourself." 

"Naturally." 

"And  you're  meddling  in  things  that  don't 
concern  you." 

Why?  Could  Helen  be  left  alone,  without  Jack? 
Was  n't  he  tremendously  fond  of  Helen  himself? 
He  admitted  that  he  was.  The  dominant  fact  was 
that  Tatia,  instead  of  being  furiously  disappointed, 
was  actually  enthusiastic.  Tatia  always  rose  to 
the  occasion! 

She  glanced  at  the  glass,  readjusting  the  flowers 
in  her  corsage.  " Come,  it's  nine  o'clock,  we  shall 
keep  Fearing  waiting.  Do  I  look  well  to-night?" 

78 


HELEN 


Tatia  was  a  jewel.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
it.  He  told  her  so  again.  She  gave  him  one  of 
her  smiles  of  good  comradeship  for  reward  and 
answer. 

At  the  door  of  the  private  dining-room  the 
maitre  d' hotel  stood  bowing.  There  were  roses  in 
the  crystal  bowl  and  the  white  cloth  was  over 
laid  with  a  tracery  of  delicate  ferns.  But  the 
table  was  laid  for  two. 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  said  the  Princess; 
"we  are  dining  with  Mr.  Fearing." 

"Pardon,  there  is  no  mistake.  Monsieur  Fear 
ing  has  left  a  message  for  your  Excellency"  — 
pointing  to  the  envelope  leaning  against  the  bowl 
of  roses. 

She  broke  the  seal,  reading  aloud:  — 

Dear  Princess,  — 

I  am  compelled,  much  to  my  regret,  to  eat  my 
dinner  on  the  express  for  Paris.  The  'everlasting 
business!'  A  cable  from  New  York  announces  a 
meeting  in  London  at  which  my  presence  is  supposed 
to  be  of  importance.  Please  say  to  our  friends  at  the 
Villa  Fontana  that  I  hope  to  return  in  a  few  days.  It 
occurs  to  me,  however,  that  this  may  not  be  necessary. 
It  might  be  agreeable  and  convenient  to  Mrs.  Lee, 
should  she  continue  to  approve  of  my  views  in  refer 
ence  to  Jack,  to  have  him  sail  with  me.  In  that  case 
I  suggest  he  should  go  up  to  Paris  in  my  motor.  My 
chauffeur  is  entirely  trustworthy,  and  if  you  will  wire 
me  at  the  Carleton  the  day  he  starts,  I  will  endeavor  to 
meet  him  myself  in  Paris  or  send  over  my  secretary. 

79 


HELEN 


The  chauffeur  has  orders  to  report  to  you  every  morn 
ing.  His  name  is  Peter.  My  compliments  to  Dimitri, 
and  to  you  regrets  and  excuses. 

FEARING. 

Dimitri  was  already  unfolding  his  napkin. 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night  the  Princess 
wrote  two  feverish  letters  —  one  to  the  Carleton 
and  one  to  Mrs.  Lee  —  and  when  Hearing's  car 
reported  for  duty  in  the  morning  she  was  ready, 
though  the  hour  was  an  unwonted  one.  She  drove 
straight  to  the  Villa  Fontana  and  commandeered 
Helen.  Jack?  No,  Jack  could  wait.  She  wanted 
Helen  to  herself. 

She  sat  down  on  the  bench  just  inside  the  gate, 
digging  the  tip  of  her  parasol  impatiently  into  the 
well-ordered  gravel. 

"Now,  my  dear, "  she  began,  before  Helen 
could  utter  a  word,  "tell  me  what  we  have  in  our 
head.  Oh,  I  know  very  well  there  is  something. 
Mr.  Fearing  said  you  would  tell  me,  and  I  have 
not  slept  —  endeavoring  to  put  two  and  two  to 
gether.  He  has  gone  to  London.  I  am  not  sorry. 
He  wishes  Jack  to  go  back  with  him  to  New  York. 
I  have  written  your  grandmother.  It 's  an  excel 
lent  plan,  very  much  to  the  point  and  very  Ameri 
can.  Time  is  so  important  at  Jack's  age!  Now  for 
you,  if  you  please." 

"  I  am  going  to  Paris." 

"Oh!  you  are  going  to  Paris!   Dear  me!" 
80 


HELEN 


"With  Jack"  —  very  firmly. 

"A  capital  chaperon!  Pray  where  do  you 
descend  in  Paris?" 

"I  am  going  to  my  grandmother's." 

"The  real  one,  eh!"  The  Princess  laughed. 
She  was  in  fine  humor.  "How  many  louis  d'or 
have  you  in  your  pocket,  my  child?" 

A  small  slip  of  paper  came  from  the  fold  in 
Helen's  dress  and  was  laid  on  the  Princess's 
muff. 

"So!  that  is  it,  is  it!  Ten  thousand  francs!  A 
fine  beginning.  My  dear,  you  will  do  nothing  of 
the  kind.  I  see  a  thousand  objections.  To  begin 
with,  Madame  de  Chavigny  would  be  stupefied. 
She  is  not  accustomed  to  these  American  pro 
cedures.  No  interruptions!  You  wish  to  go  to 
Paris,  to  be  with  Jack  to  the  last  moment,  to 
scatter  some  francs  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and 
to  throw  yourself  into  the  arms  of  another  grand 
mother  —  all  with  this  preux  chevalier  Jack  —  a 
fine  programme  —  highly  improper  and  quite 
impossible!  You  need  not  shut  your  lips  so 
tightly,  my  dear.  I  say  quite  impossible,  because 
—  you  are  going  with  me." 

She  laid  her  hand  for  silence  on  Helen's  knee, 
There  was  no  need  to  enjoin  it.  The  garden  had 
vanished,  its  tangle  of  interlacing  boughs,  the 
path  dipping  out  of  sight  to  the  sea.  Straight 
before  her  was  the  clear,  open  road,  where  the 
garden  ought  to  be.  She  could  not  frame  in  words 

81 


HELEN 


the  picture  at  the  road's  end.  What  else  Tatia 
was  saying  she  did  not  hear.  What  Tatia  had 
said  before  she  had  heard  unmoved.  How  little 
Tatia  understood  that  the  child  in  her  was 
dead! 

But  Tatia  went  on,  humorously,  as  if  it  were  a 
day's  excursion  instead  of  the  straight  road,  the 
road  which  had  no  end.  "We  are  ordered  to 
Paris,  and  you  will  pass  the  winter  with  us.  I 
have  arranged  it  with  your  grandmother"  — 
Tatia  alluded  to  her  letter:  in  the  matter  of  ac 
ceptances  to  her  proposals  she  sometimes  slipped 
in  her  tenses  —  "but  we  will  go  leisurely,  accord 
ing  to  our  own  notions,  and  Jack  will  look  after 
me  —  I  give  you  Dimitri  instead.  Don't  speak, 
child,  or  I  shall  play  the  fool  myself.  Go  find 
Jack  —  tell  him  our  fairy  tale.  I  am  going  to 
your  grandmother." 

She  stood  up,  bristling  with  energy,  shaking  her 
muff  free  of  its  wrinkles,  like  a  warrior  about  to 
break  a  lance. 

"Tatia  dear,  I  would  rather  you  would  not.  I 
had  rather  speak  to  grandmamma  myself." 

The  Princess  shot  a  swift  glance  at  the  face, 
grown  suddenly  grave  and  determined. 

"I  believe  you  are  right.  I  think  so,  too." 

They  walked  together  slowly  to  the  motor 
without  speaking.  It  was  beginning  to  dawn 
upon  the  Princess,  what  a  visit  to  Paris  really 
meant. 

82 


HELEN 


As  she  got  into  the  car  Helen  stepped  on  the 
running-board,  burying  her  face  in  Tatia's  fur 
collar  close  under  the  ear.  The  tears  were  close 
to  her  eyes. 

The  Princess  wiped  her  own  briskly. 

"Avanti!  "  she  cried  to  the  American  chauffeur. 


IX 

AN  impartial  visitor  would  have  found  Mrs. 
Lee's  bedroom  in  the  Villa  Fontana  open  to  the 
same  criticism  as  the  salon,  overcrowded  as  it  was 
with  objets  d'art  of  more  merit  than  appropriate 
ness.  Yet,  like  the  salon,  the  impression  it  created 
was  a  pleasing  one.  It  was  a  room  to  live  in  as  well 
as  to  sleep  in,  spacious  beyond  the  wont  of  bed 
rooms,  its  three  large  windows  looking  southward 
over  the  sea.  Through  these  windows  it  borrowed 
the  sun,  the  garden  odors,  the  sea  breezes  —  all 
the  treasures  of  the  outside  world.  On  the  west 
a  glass  door  opened  upon  a  small  garden  on  the 
same  level.  Perched  on  its  high  retaining  wall, 
its  only  means  of  access  the  wicket  in  the  hedge 
where  it  joined  the  rising  ground  on  the  north,  it 
was  as  free  from  intrusion  as  the  room  itself. 

Windows  and  doors  were  shut  now,  a  wood  fire 
was  burning  on  the  hearth  behind  the  wire  cage, 
before  which  Mrs.  Lee  was  sitting  in  the  armchair 
which  the  maid  dragged  every  evening  from  its 
corner  before  bidding  her  mistress  good-night. 
She  had  always  prized  this  evening  hour  of  soli 
tude  and  peace,  the  companionship  of  this  fire, 
which  like  some  intimate  and  privileged  guest, 
shared  with  her  the  hour  before  sleep.  There  were 
guests  with  her  to-night  that  had  not  waited  for 

84 


HELEN 


invitations  and  whom  she  could  not  dismiss. 
Motionless,  her  thin  white  hands  resting  on  the 
arms  of  the  chair,  she  stared  into  the  fire,  now 
crumbling  to  ashes. 

A  mournful  figure! 

In  her  lap  lay  a  letter  from  the  Princess  Ghica. 
Monsieur  de  Chavigny's  will  was  in  the  desk 
between  the  windows  —  two  bits  of  paper  which 
changed  the  entire  aspect  of  life.  The  hand  of  the 
dead,  more  inexorable  than  that  of  the  living,  had 
taken  the  helm. 

John  was  going  to  America. 

She  had  offered  no  objections.  There  were  none 
to  make.  For  many  reasons  the  decision,  once 
made,  had  lifted  a  load  of  uncertainty  and  re 
sponsibility  from  her  shoulders.  She  had  begun  to 
be  concerned  for  John's  future,  to  realize,  in  a 
helpless  sort  of  way,  that  it  was  time  to  think 
of  school  and  vocation.  He  was  getting  restless. 
The  energies  of  youth  were  beginning  to  seek 
other  outlets  than  her  quiet  life  afforded.  He 
needed,  too,  a  man's  guidance,  and  Providence 
had  furnished  the  man.  She  had  always  intended 
to  provide  so  far  as  she  was  able  for  the  children's 
future.  But  how?  Money  was  not  all,  and  that 
little  was  all  she  had  to  give.  They  were  alone 
in  the  world.  She  had  lost  all  touch  with  earlier 
associations  in  her  own  country.  With  their 
mother's  family  she  had  no  relations.  They  had 
never  forgiven  the  American  marriage  and  were 

85 


HELEN 


not  to  be  counted  upon.  Pride  —  self-respect  she 
called  it  —  stood  in  the  way.  To  know  that  the 
future  was  secure,  so  far  as  material  considerations 
were  concerned,  was  an  immense  relief.  But  for 
the  passion  to  be  the  sole  source  of  happiness  it 
would  be  a  joy. 

To  be  no  longer  the  giver! 

That  John  should  be  wild  with  delight  was 
natural  enough.  But  Helen! 

She  took  up  the  Princess's  letter. 

"We  are  ordered  to  Paris  ...  it  will  do  the 
child  good  ..." 

The  implication  rankled.  And  Helen  had  ac 
cepted,  calmly,  unreservedly,  with  a  bewildering 
decision  of  will  which  did  not  even  admit  of  dis 
cussion. 

She  had  never  before  contemplated  the  possi 
bility  of  being  left  alone.  In  forecasting  the  future 
it  was  always  she  that  was  taken  and  the  children 
left.  With  her  own  life  she  was  satisfied,  satisfied 
to  live  it  as  she  was  living  it,  to  the  end.  She  loved 
its  tranquillity  and  peace,  her  wonted  ways,  the 
quiet  garden,  her  social  kingdom,  and  —  herself. 
After  her  fashion  she  had  loved  the  children,  for 
her  son's  sake.  Face  to  face  with  separation  she 
saw  for  the  first  time  loneliness,  like  the  shadow 
of  a  cloud  that  blots  out  the  sunlight,  settling  over 
life  —  the  burden  changed  to  blessing. 

Her  thought  went  back  to  the  day  when  they 
came  to  her  —  Helen  a  little  girl  in  short  dresses, 

86 


HELEN 


and  John  a  mere  babe  in  the  nurse's  arms.  A  long 
time  ago!  Well,  she  had  done  her  duty  by  them. 
She  had  repeated  the  words  more  than  once,  for 
she  had  her  conscience  well  in  hand.  To-night 
conscience  was  rebellious.  It  persisted  in  asking 
her  if  she  had  ever  loved  these  children  for  their 
own  sake,  with  the  love  that  puts  the  happiness 
of  others  above  one's  own.  It  asked  her  why  to 
night  there  was  no  rejoicing  in  her  heart.  She 
answered  there  was  rejoicing  —  but  at  its  core  was 
a  bitterness  she  could  not  banish  and  was  reluc 
tant  to  explain.  Why?  Were  they  not  her  son's 
children,  her  only  son,  whom  she  had  worshipped? 
—  with  that  worship  which  grows  in  proportion 
as  its  object  recedes  into  the  background. 

He  had  been  an  affectionate  son,  even  a  dutiful 
one  in  outward  observances.  But  in  all  those  vi 
tal  things  wherein  his  tastes  and  proclivities  ran 
counter  to  her  own  he  had  always  had  his  way. 
The  conflict  had  begun  early,  when  his  boyish 
dams  and  water-wheels  had  tried  the  patience  of 
the  gardener,  and  his  room  became  a  laboratory 
defiant  of  the  standards  of  order  observed  in  the 
Villa  Fontana.  It  had  gone  on  increasing  with 
his  ardent  love  for  all  that  practical  and  scientific 
side  of  life  which  she  neither  understood  nor  cared 
for,  and  she  had  yielded,  grudgingly,  resignedly, 
of  necessity,  till  he  had  gone  beyond  the  scope  of 
her  sympathy  or  comprehension,  not  even  sus 
pecting  the  sacrifice  of  her  somewhat  vague  ambi- 

87 


HELEN 


tions  for  him  —  gone  his  own  way,  without  en 
couragement,  until  little  by  little  she  was  lost  in 
the  background  and  the  man's  interests  had  taken 
her  place. 

The  widening  breach  had  brought  struggle, 
estrangement,  but  no  open  hostility  —  she  re 
minded  conscience  of  that  —  not  even  at  the  final 
parting  of  the  ways.  For  when  the  other  woman 
came  to  occupy  the  first  place  in  his  plans  and 
affections,  the  parting  was  final. 

She  was  not  so  unreasonable  as  to  shut  her  eyes 
to  the  inevitable  course  of  nature,  nor  yet  so  rea 
sonable  as  to  bow  to  it.  Inwardly  she  had  resented 
it,  resented  the  intruder  who  absorbed  for  herself 
all  she  had  considered  her  own  and  had  not  known 
how  to  keep.  She  had  made  the  vain  effort  to  keep 
this  bitterness  to  herself.  Does  one  ever  succeed 
in  facing  two  ways?  It  was  an  added  bitterness 
that  he  had  never  seemed  to  see  what  she  called 
her  sacrifice,  to  realize  that  the  merging  of  his  life 
in  another's  had  made  him  still  more  buoyant, 
self-confident,  and  free. 

Of  his  marriage  she  knew  only  after  its  consum 
mation.  Was  it,  after  all,  her  fault  that  he  had 
never  confided  in  her?  On  marriage  she  had  her 
own  definite  views,  the  views  that  come  with  retro 
spect  and  experience.  It  was  perhaps  the  only 
subject  on  which  her  judgment  was  more  prac 
tical  than  his.  That  he  should  plunge  into  that  sea 
without  thought  for  the  future,  regardless  of  every 

88 


HELEN 


material  consideration,  heedless  of  its  conse 
quences,  and  against  the  wishes  of  his  wife's  fam 
ily,  was  a  romantic  folly  —  a  man's  folly  and  a 
woman's  work!  But  his  courage  had  always  risen 
with  opposition  —  she  had  called  it  wilfulness  at 
the  time  —  and  he  had  met  opposition  as  he  had 
ever  done  by  taking  the  reins  in  his  own  hands. 
And  courage  had  had  its  reward.  In  the  desk  by 
the  window  she  still  preserved  his  letters,  glowing 
letters  filled  with  a  supreme  happiness,  the  happi 
ness  that  atones  for  everything  and  silences  re 
proach.  Then  came  the  end,  the  real  end,  in  that 
terrible  tragedy  of  Tarascon,  with  its  ravaging 
aftermath  of  regrets  and  self-condemnation. 

At  first  and  for  a  long  time  the  children  had  in 
a  measure  been  a  solace  and  compensation.  John 
was  like  his  father,  her  own  John,  sanguine,  affec 
tionate,  and  self-willed.  Was  it  again  her  fault 
that  she  had  never  taken  the  lost  mother's  place, 
the  place  that  had  been  taken  by  Helen? 

The  white  hands  tightened  on  the  arms  of  the 
chair,  and  the  heart  warmed  with  the  craving  for 
what  she  had  never  given  —  affection,  free,  un 
trammelled  by  pride  and  the  reserves  of  self-will. 
And  now  they,  too,  in  the  relentless  irony  of  exist 
ence  were  to  pass  out  of  her  life ;  for  she  was  not 
deceived  by  the  word  'visit'  in  the  Princess's  let 
ter,  and  John  was  to  cross  the  sea.  She  was  get 
ting  to  be  an  old  woman.  She  had  abandoned  her 
country  in  her  youth,  and  in  her  old  age  her  coun- 

89 


HELEN 


try  abandoned  her.  It  would  not  know  her  if  she 
returned  to  it.  The  mere  thought  of  doing  so  was 
repellent.  She  could  not  get  into  its  swift  current 
even  if  she  desired,  and  having  passed  her  by  it 
was  now  to  rob  her  of  the  children  of  her  son. 
After  all  they  were  the  only  real  ties  which  bound 
her  to  earth.  The  old  ones  had  been  loosened,  and 
the  new  ones  —  to-night,  before  the  dying  fire, 
they  seemed  weak  and  vain. 

She  struggled  awhile  with  the  sense  of  loneli 
ness,  the  enervating  tide  of  self-pity,  then  faced 
conscience  resolutely  again.  Had  she  no  griev 
ances  —  against  this  woman  who  had  usurped 
her  place?  against  this  country  where  conventions 
and  dots,  all  those  wise  provisions  for  the  safe 
guarding  of  impetuous  natures,  are  commonly  set 
at  naught?  against  the  dead  man  who  had  given 
the  sympathy  and  assistance  she  had  withheld  and 
who  now  reduced  her  to  a  cipher?  And  conscience ! 
Why  had  its  voice  always  been  the  voice  of  re 
proach,  never  the  voice  of  warning?  Conscience 
answered  that  a  love  shared  is  never  lost,  that  the 
abdication  of  self  is  not  defeat,  that  she  was  reap 
ing  what  she  had  sown,  pain  for  pain  and  bitter 
ness  for  bitterness,  —  the  helpless  bitterness  of 
pride  which  sees  too  late. 

' '  Grandmamma. ' ' 

Helen  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  the  light 
from  the  glowing  embers  reflected  on  her  face. 

"Yes,  Helen." 

90 


HELEN 


Helen  closed  the  door  and  advanced  a  step.  The 
voice  was  the  voice  expected,  questioning,  dis 
concerting.  She  was  in  the  mood  to  throw  her 
arms  about  some  one  —  even  her  grandmother  — 
if  the  voice  had  only  hinted  invitation.  In  the 
immobile  face  she  read  the  recognition  of  their 
changed  relations,  of  her  newly  acquired  inde 
pendence.  With  her  own  consciousness  of  it  hos 
tility  had  melted.  It  seemed  to  have  hardened  the 
heart  to  which  she  appealed,  and  the  chill  struck 
to  her  own. 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  grandmamma — " 
She  hesitated.  It  was  not  easy  to  speak,  standing, 
to  the  stiff  figure  seated  before  the  fire.  She  drew 
a  footstool  beside  the  chair  and  sat  down  at  her 
grandmother's  feet. 

"  I  want  to  speak  with  you  —  to  talk  with  you. 
Will  you  listen  to  me?" 

Her  face  was  pale,  the  small  mouth  twitching, 
but  a  purpose  not  to  be  turned  aside  was  discern 
ible  under  the  question. 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  speak  about,  Helen?" 

What  was  there  to  speak  about !  Jack  was  going 
away,  life  was  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  say!  For  a  moment  courage  faltered, 
and  the  temptation  to  say  nothing,  to  let  it  all  go, 
overcame  her.  An  older  person,  of  wiser  mould, 
might  have  yielded,  let  well  enough  alone,  as  she 
herself  had  done  these  many  years.  It  was  an 
other  Helen  now.  The  first  rush  of  feeling  was 


HELEN 


gone.  In  its  stead  was  this  strange,  new  sense  of 
power  —  the  power  that  money  gives.  There  was 
no  sordidness  in  it,  only  the  consciousness  of  free 
dom,  freedom  from  fetters,  freedom  to  do  and  to 
be.  Whether  or  not  she  had  been  too  sensitive  to 
it,  the  oppression  of  dependence  was  gone.  The 
barriers  were  down,  the  road  open.  But  another 
oppression  remained,  the  oppression  of  silence, 
of  repression,  the  long  accumulated  load  of  years. 
It  stifled  her.  She  longed  to  be  rid  of  it.  She  could 
not  take  a  step  on  that  open  road  till  it  was  gone. 
Every  chamber  in  her  being,  so  long  locked,  was 
as  ready  to  open  to  the  wonderful  future  as  the 
tightly  folded  bud  yields  to  the  sun — if  her  grand 
mother  would  help  her.  Would  she? 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  that  letter." 

"The  Princess's  letter?" 

"Yes." 

She  saw  the  white  hand,  lined  with  the  swollen 
blue  veins  of  age,  hanging  listlessly  from  the  chair. 
She  longed  to  lay  her  cheek  on  it.  It  was  not  half 
so  starved  as  she. 

"I  quite  understand  your  wish  to  accept  the 
Princess's  invitation.  It  would  be  very  lonely  for 
you  here  without  John.  I  understand  that,  too." 

Helen  raised  her  head.  It  was  too  late  to  retreat 
now,  and  a  passionate  sincerity,  the  rash,  unspar 
ing  sincerity  of  youth,  carried  her  away. 

"Is  that  all  you  understand,  grandmamma? 
Don't  you  understand  that  I  want  to  go  —  that  I 

92 


HELEN 


must  go  —  not  because  Jack  is  going  —  wait, 
please  —  let  me  speak  first.  You  have  been  good 
to  us,  to  Jack  and  me.  I  shall  never  forget  it, 
never.  I  long  to  repay  it.  Mr.  Fearing  says  I  can't 
with  money,  and,  grandmamma,  you  have  never 
let  me  try  with  love." 

"Helen!" 

"It's  true,  grandmamma.  Goodness  isn't 
enough.  I  want  love,  to  have  it  and  to  give  it. 
I've  never  had  it  since  mother  went  —  except 
from  Jack  and  Aunt  Tatia." 

A  cruel  little  flame  darted  out  from  the  crum 
bling  log,  hissing  fiercely,  and  as  suddenly  expired. 

"  Helen,  you  are  saying  what  you  will  regret." 

Helen  had  never  spoken  in  this  way  before. 
The  revolt  took  away  all  power  of  speech.  If  it 
had  been  the  revolt  of  anger  —  but  it  was  the  re 
volt  of  truth,  ruthless  because  so  true.  Its  abso 
lute  verity  and  the  honesty  of  its  utterance  left 
her  dumb. 

Helen  shook  her  head  slowly.  "No,  I  am  say 
ing  what  I  must,  what  is  true,  what  you  know  is 
true.  Are  we  never  to  say  what  we  are  both  think 
ing?  It  hurts  to  be  silent,  more  than  to  speak. 
I  know  perfectly  well  what  I  have  wanted,  to 
be  loved  as  mother  loved  me  —  with  her  arms, 
whether  I  deserved  it  or  not.  The  last  night  she 
was  here  she  took  me  in  her  arms  and  cried.  I  had 
never  seen  mamma  cry.  I  wondered  why.  I  was 
too  young  then  to  know.  I  know  now  —  you  did 

93 


HELEN 

not  love  her.  I  know  it  because,  if  you  had,  you 
would  have  loved  me,  no  matter  how  unlike  her 
I  was.  She  loved  every  one.  I  am  not  like  her  — 
I  am  like  you  —  I  cannot  love  every  one."  Her 
voice  softened.  "That  is  what  I  came  to  say. 
Can't  we  forgive  each  other  for  not  loving  each 
other  —  now  —  before  I  go?  " 

The  white  hand,  trembling  on  the  chair,  went 
to  the  bent  head.  At  its  touch  Helen  looked  up. 

"If  you  only  needed  me,  grandmamma  —  but 
you  don't.  You  will  miss  me  when  visitors  come, 
when  your  eyes  are  tired  and  I  am  not  here  to 
read  to  you.  But  you  will  not  miss  me  as  Jack  will 
miss  me.  I  shall  be  no  more  than  a  vase  of  flowers 
taken  from  a  room." 

The  white  hand  was  withdrawn  and  the  face 
turned  away. 

There  had  been  a  moment,  had  Helen  only 
known  it,  when  forgiveness  could  have  been  given 
and  taken,  bitterness  washed  away  in  tears.  That 
moment  had  gone. 

"  I  am  not  saying  what  I  meant  to  say.  I  meant 
to  say  that  if  Aunt  Tatia  had  not  asked  me  to  go 
with  her,  if  Jack  had  gone  away  with  Mr.  Fearing, 
I  should  have  been  terribly  lonely  —  but  I  should 
have  been  happy  because  Jack  was  so  happy  — 
and  I  thought  if  you  could  feel  about  me  as  I  feel 
about  Jack,  if  I  could  share  my  happiness  with 
you,  I  should  not  be  ashamed  of  being  so  glad. 
Papa  used  to  say  we  owed  everything  to  Uncle 

94 


HELEN 


Hector.  But  mamma  said  love  paid  every  debt. 
I  know  now  what  she  meant." 

"Hush,  child,  you  touch  wounds  of  which  you 
do  not  know." 

In  the  desk  by  the  window  was  a  red  book,  a 
book  of  accounts  and  figures.  On  a  separate  page 
began  a  list  of  expenditures  for  the  children.  It 
was  a  record  for  her  own  satisfaction,  certainly 
not  an  account  for  collection.  She  had  never  in 
tended  it  for  any  eye  but  her  own.  If  debt  there 
was,  love  that  might  have  paid  it  would  never  pay 
it  now.  Her  thought  travelled  back  again  into  the 
past.  John  had  received  a  small  inheritance  from 
his  father,  barely  enough  for  student  days.  She 
had  offered  to  supplement  it.  He  had  not  refused 
the  assistance  of  Monsieur  de  Chavigny,  yet  he 
had  refused  hers.  She  had  not  even  known  how 
to  give! 

"Wounds,  grandmamma?" 

Helen  stood  up.  There  was  that  in  her  grand- 
mother's  voice  she  had  never  heard  before. 

"Leave  me,  dear."  She  made  an  effort  to  smile. 
The  habit  of  years  is  not  broken  in  an  hour.  "You 
need  not  feel  ashamed." 

Helen  stooped  quickly.  Since  a  little  girl  she 
had  not  done  what  she  was  doing  —  kissing  her 
grandmother,  with  arms  tight  about  her  neck. 

The  white  hands  loosened  them  gently.  "Go, 
dear,  go  —  good-night." 

"Good-night,  grandmamma." 

95 


HELEN 


Something  told  her  not  to  linger. 
"Good-night." 

The  door  closed.  A  few  last  sparks  of  light  crept 
in  red  zigzags  over  a  black  ember  and  went  out. 

Failure,  all  failure,  from  beginning  to  end.  For 
this  was  the  end.  Opportunity  gone,  as  irretriev 
ably  as  the  girl  whose  retreating  footsteps  echoed 
in  the  corridor. 


BOOK  II 


X 

THERE  is  a  ceremony  which  confounds  the  laws  of 
number  by  pronouncing  two  one.  But  which  one? 
In  the  process  of  becoming  Madame  de  Chavigny 
it  was  the  identity  of  Julie  de  Trecourt  which  suf 
fered  eclipse. 

She  possessed  one  of  those  loving  natures  which 
bend  like  a  willow  to  the  storm  —  a  habit  of  soul 
no  storm  permanently  disturbs.  Monsieur  de 
Chavigny,  with  fine,  unconscious  irony,  accounted 
her  a  saint,  and  saints  being  habitually  trampled 
upon  in  this  world,  he  saw  no  reason  for  making 
her  an  exception.  He  was  by  no  means  blind  to 
her  good  qualities.  On  the  contrary  he  held  them 
in  high  esteem,  appropriating  them,  together  with 
her  dot,  exclusively  to  himself,  and  wearing  them, 
like  the  order  given  him  by  his  king,  as  personal 
decorations. 

In  similar  fashion  he  had  taken  over  and  dis 
posed  of  her  two  most  precious  possessions  — 
Hector  and  Hellene.  The  former  she  had  surren 
dered  with  that  good  grace  which  concedes  to  a 
husband  the  right  to  dispose  of  a  son's  career. 
When,  however,  in  defiance  of  that  right  Hector 
entered  the  service  of  what  Monsieur  de  Chavigny 
called  the  infecte  Republic,  she  secretly  sympa 
thized  with  the  son,  not  because  she  shared  his 

99 


HELEN 


political  opinions,  but  rather  because  with  her 
surer  feminine  instinct  she  read  the  signs  of  the 
times  better  than  her  lord.  Every  promotion, 
which  for  him  was  another  downward  step  in 
infamy,  brought  her  a  hidden  satisfaction.  She 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  one  of  those  loving 
women  who  gauge  success  by  the  happiness  of  the 
successful,  apart  from  all  purely  worldly  or  po 
litical  ambitions.  Principle  occupied  all  Monsieur 
de  Chavigny's  horizon.  In  his  code  of  ethics  it  left 
no  place  for  affection,  which  in  conflict  with  prin 
ciple  becomes  a  species  of  immorality.  In  her 
humble  way  Madame  de  Chavigny  saw  certain 
distinctions  between  this  fetish  and  the  high 
gods  on  Olympus.  Thus  it  happened  that,  while 
Helene's  marriage  was  a  shock,  because  H61£ne 
was  happy  and  because  her  own  share  of  happiness 
had  been  so  slender,  she  seized  upon  Helene's  and 
lived  in  it  vicariously;  and  having  herself  known 
much  sorrow,  applied  herself  conscientiously  to 
the  task  of  making  her  husband  forget  that  it 
existed.  Even  when  he  closed  his  door  upon  his 
progeny  she  continued  to  give  him  that  strange 
thing,  a  woman's  loyalty  —  for  two  excellent  rea 
sons:  first,  because  there  are  men  capable  of  exact 
ing  it,  and  second,  because  there  are  women  in 
capable  of  ceasing  to  love  their  husbands  after 
having  once  surrendered  themselves. 

When,    however,   in    his    turn    Monsieur    de 
Chavigny  surrendered  his  marital  authority,  a 

100 


HELKN 


long  cherished  hope  fluttered  to  new  life  in  the 
heart  of  the  lonely  woman  in  the  Rue  du  Bac. 
Somewhere  in  the  world  were  Helene's  children, 
young  lives  whose  warm,  fresh  blood  is  the  only 
elixir  for  old  age.  Lying  under  the  cypresses  of 
Pere-la- Chaise,  his  decorations  on  his  breast, 
Monsieur  de  Chavigny  would  not  have  been 
flattered  to  know  that  this  belated  ray  of  sun 
shine  had  waited  for  his  departure. 

In  clandestine  correspondence  she  had  shared 
this  hope  with  Hector,  asking  absolution  in  her 
prayers  for  this  loyalty  of  the  mother,  so  disloyal 
to  the  husband.  To  indulge  this  hope,  whose  reali 
zation  was  dependent  upon  a  contingency  she  did 
not  dare  to  frame  in  words,  to  write  with  her  pen 
the  beloved  name  her  lips  were  forbidden  to  pro 
nounce,  was  the  blackest  sin  ever  committed  by 
Julie  de  Chavigny.  Hector  was  not  troubled  by 
such  scruples.  Immediately  after  the  death  of  his 
father  he  wrote  that  on  settling  his  affairs  abroad 
he  would  return  to  France  and  restore  to  her  the 
mother's  birthright.  He  had  made  a  will  in  favor 
of  the  children.  Courage! 

Alas,  all  these  plans  had  come  to  naught. 
Scarcely  a  month  after  Monsieur  de  Chavigny's 
death  Hector's  followed,  leaving  a  woman,  already 
solitary,  more  solitary  and  more  in  need  than  ever. 

Sitting  one  late  afternoon  in  the  chair  from 
which  she  was  accustoming  herself  to  survey  life, 
his  last  letters  in  her  lap,  she  was  asking  why 

101 


HELEN 


she  should  not  herself  endeavor  to  realize  their 
promises.  Initiative  had  been  so  long  denied  her 
that  the  thought  paralyzed  her.  In  the  drawer 
of  the  escritoire  beside  her  was  a  precious  heir 
loom.  She  had  taken  it  that  very  morning  from 
the  safe.  How  often  she  had  clasped  it  about  the 
neck  her  arms  had  never  encircled!  She  must  be 
almost  a  woman  now,  with  hair  and  eyes  like  her 
own  Helene. 

She  rang  for  candles. 

f  In  their  feeble  light  the  face  of  the  Count  in  the 
portrait  between  the  tapestries  looked  down  upon 
her.  On  the  table  at  her  elbow  was  a  miniature  — 
H61ene.  She  opened  the  desk  and,  selecting  one 
of  the  letters  in  her  lap,  copied  from  it  the  address 
—  Madame  John  Lee,  Villa  Fontana,  Mentone, 
Alpes  Maritimes,  France.  Her  hand  trembled. 
To  write!  It  was  like  seeing,  touching. 

Once  more,  against  her  will,  she  looked  at  the 
face  between  the  tapestries. 

She  began  to  write  again. 

For  it  is  written:  Love  is  stronger  than  Death. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  a  motor  stopped 
before  the  gloomy  doorway  in  the  narrowest  por 
tion  of  the  Rue  du  Bac. 

It  was  five  o'clock,  and  much  darker  than  usual 
at  that  hour  owing  to  the  fine  rain.  Lights  were 
already  burning  in  the  shop  windows  on  either 
side  of  the  entrance.  One  of  these  windows  was 

102 


HELEN 


ornamented  with  colored  prints  of  the  Cries  of 
London,  bits  of  lace  and  stray  pieces  of  old  silver 
and  china,  behind  which,  in  the  dim  interior,  amid 
a  confusion  of  chairs  and  tables  covered  with  bric- 
a-brac  and  remnants  of  brocade,  sat  a  little  old 
man  whose  age  corresponded  with  that  of  his 
wares.  The  other  window,  under  the  sign  Delica 
tessen,  was  more  brilliantly  lighted,  as  befitted  its 
cream  cheeses  wrapped  in  tinfoil,  its  Strasbourg 
p&tes  and  glistening  sausages,  temptingly  dis 
played  on  a  slab  of  polished  marble. 

On  account  of  the  rain  there  were  no  loiterers 
before  the  windows,  but  as  the  car  drew  up  beside 
the  curb  the  occupant  of  the  antiquity  shop  hur 
ried  to  the  door  to  discover  if  possible  which  of 
the  lodgers  overhead  was  honored  by  so  unusual  a 
visitor.  Several  of  the  passers-by  also  stopped  to 
gaze  curiously  at  the  American  chains  on  the  tires, 
and  then  at  the  pretty  face  of  the  young  girl  with 
the  bunch  of  violets  in  her  corsage  who  stepped 
lightly  from  the  motor  and  disappeared  under  the 
archway. 

The  evil-minded  might  have  asked  what  was 
the  errand  of  this  young  girl  entering,  thus  unat 
tended,  this  somewhat  forbidding  and  ill-lighted 
doorway.  No  one,  in  truth,  but  herself  had  at  that 
moment  the  slightest  idea  of  her  whereabouts  or 
intentions.  This  did  not  prevent  her,  however, 
from  ascending  the  stairs  as  lightly  as  she  had 
stepped  from  the  limousine,  nor  drive  from  her 

103 


HELEN 


face  the  smile  of  confident  expectation  with  which 
she  pulled  the  dilapidated  bell  rope  without  the 
door  on  the  third  landing. 

A  moment  after,  a  thin  old  man,  in  a  faded  liv 
ery  bearing  the  marks  of  careful  repairs,  appeared, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  silver  candlestick. 

"Is  Madame  de  Chavigny  at  home?" 

The  question  was  certainly  one  to  be  expected 
of  a  visitor,  and  the  face  illumined  by  the  candle 
was  not  one  to  inspire  terror.  Yet  something  very 
near  to  terror  was  depicted  on  the  old  man's  coun 
tenance  as,  recoiling  a  step,  he  stammered :  — 

"Mademoiselle  Helene!" 

"Yes,  I  am  Helene.  Are  you  the  Jacques  of 
whom  my  mother  used  to  tell  me?" 

"  Man  Dieu,  Mademoiselle  —  truly  —  I  thought 
• —  you  are  so  like  —  mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieu!" 

In  spite  of  his  agitation,  Helen  was  smiling. 
She  took  the  candle  from  his  shaking  hand  and 
set  it  on  the  console. 

"Hush,  my  good  Jacques.  Will  grandmamma 
be  glad?" 

"Glad!"  he  ejaculated  in  a  flutter  of  joy  and 
indecision.  ' l  But  how  to  tell  her !  how  to  tell  her ! ' ' 

For  the  first  time  Helen  realized  the  rashness  of 
her  action.  It  was  her  first  draught  of  freedom, 
an  intoxicating  wine.  They  had  just  arrived  in 
Paris  and  every  hour  had  been  a  whirl  of  excite 
ment.  The  Princess  had  already  written  Fearing, 
still  detained  in  London,  that  ten  thousand  francs 

104 


HELEN 


were  absurdly  inadequate  for  the  presentation  of 
an  American  granddaughter  to  a  French  grand 
mother.  She  was  not  in  the  least  sceptical  of  the 
results  of  any  matter  she  had  in  hand,  but  she 
had  a  strict  regard  for  the  mise-en-scene.  Above 
all,  being  very  proud  of  Helen,  she  took  very  seri 
ously  her  own  part  in  the  presentation,  which  was 
not  to  be  effected  without  due  tact  and  premedi 
tation.  In  all  this  Helen  apparently  acquiesced. 
She  was  not  free  from  a  certain  misgiving,  born  of 
the  silence  which  always  attended  the  mention  of 
Madame  de  Chavigny's  name  in  the  Villa  Fon- 
tana,  mingled  with  a  latent  aversion  to  being 
ushered  into  that  lady's  presence  by  any  one,  even 
Aunt  Tatia.  At  tea-time  that  afternoon  the  la 
tent  aversion  suddenly  became  an  impulse.  She 
was  alone.  Jack  had  gone  with  Dimitri  to  an  avia 
tion  meeting  at  Vincennes.  The  Princess  was  out. 
She  put  on  her  new  hat  and  stole,  fastened  the 
violets  Jack  had  bought  her  in  her  corsage,  and 
ordered  the  motor,  resolved  to  be  her  own  mes 
senger,  to  make  her  own  appeal. 

It  had  all  seemed  very  simple  till  now  when, 
standing  in  the  antechamber,  the  tinkling  sound 
of  a  bell  from  the  adjoining  room  told  her  there 
was  no  time  for  wavering. 

11 1  will  tell  her,  Jacques."  The  smile  was  re 
assuring.  "Which  is  the  door  —  this  one?"  And 
turning  the  handle  designated  she  opened  the  door 
and  went  in. 

105 


HELEN 


The  room  was  large  and  dimly  lighted  by  a  few 
scattered  candles,  spots  of  light  which  softened  its 
decidedly  faded  appearance.  Helen  did  not  notice 
this  now.  She  saw  only  the  figure  in  black  in  the 
deep  armchair  by  the  escritoire.  But  she  had 
occasion  to  observe  it  later,  and  to  feel  the  differ 
ence  between  the  carefully  preserved  antiquities 
of  the  Rue  du  Bac  and  the  restored  article  of  the 
Villa  Fontana. 

She  had  never  seen  her  grandmother  before. 
The  miniature  among  her  mother's  treasures  was 
that  of  a  young  woman.  To  the  woman  in  the 
chair  the  years  allotted  by  the  Hebrew  King  had 
already  been  granted.  Yet  neither  these  years  nor 
their  sorrows  had  left  upon  her  face  their  usual 
traces.  They  had  robbed  her  limbs  of  vigor,  as  the 
cane  leaning  against  the  chair  indicated ;  but  they 
had  ploughed  no  furrows  about  the  mouth,  nor 
stolen  from  the  eyes  any  of  their  brightness. 
Scarcely  had  they  touched  the  hair  falling  about 
the  temples  in  soft  brown  curls  after  the  manner 
of  a  bygone  fashion.  Helen  thought  of  a  flower 
growing  in  an  attic  window. 

At  the  young  girl  advancing  thus  unannounced 
she  looked  up  in  surprise.  Then  surprise  fell  away 
and  certainty,  the  blessed  realization  of  years  of 
hope  and  patience,  came  in  its  place. 

"Helene!" 

* '  Grandmamma ! ' ' 

Jacques  at  the  half-open  door  closed  it  dis- 
106 


HELEN 


erectly.  Habit  and  solicitude  brought  him  back 
with  the  sherry  and  biscuit  a  half-hour  later  — 
longer  he  could  not  wait  —  to  share  in  his  capa 
city  of  old  and  faithful  servant  the  sunshine  for 
whose  admission  he  took  the  credit.  His  hand 
shook  as  he  poured  the  sherry,  but  his  wrinkled 
face  was  radiant  as  he  tiptoed  from  the  room  with 
a  lingering  glance  at  the  sunshine  sitting  on  the 
tabouret  at  Madame  de  Chavigny's  feet. 


XI 

THEY  were  smiling  at  each  other,  shyly,  strangers 
still  in  spite  of  kinship  and  joy. 

11 1  had  to  come,  grandmamma,  —  and  I  wanted 
to  come  this  way,  alone,  without  any  one,  even 
Jack.  I  have  wanted  to  all  these  years  —  but  I 
was  not  free." 

"Alas,  no  one  is  free,  dear." 

"But  I  am  free,  I  am  free!"  Madame  de 
Chavigny  looked  down  into  the  young  face,  so 
frank,  so  self-confident  and  candid.  A  girl,  a  mere 
child,  with  everything  to  learn.  All  her  own  grief 
had  been  the  fruit  of  that  tree,  of  this  joyous  dis 
regard  for  all  the  dogmas  of  her  ancient  code,  this 
open  hospitality  toward  life.  Hers  had  known  so 
many  walls  and  barriers  that  had  not  kept  her 
safe!  "  I  have  a  horrible  feeling  that  it  is  because 
of  Uncle  Hector's  money.  I  try  to  hate  it,  but  I 
cannot.  It's  that  that  makes  me  free." 

The  brown  eyes  above  her  were  shining  with 
tears.  "Were  you  so  sad  down  there?" 

"Don't  say  that"  —  she  thought  of  the  other 
woman  at  whose  feet  she  had  sat  a  few  days  be 
fore —  "I  did  n't  mean  that.  I  was  only  trying 
to  tell  you  how  changed  everything  is  —  every 
thing  —  the  whole  world.  The  first  thought  I 

108 


HELEN 


had  was  of  you,  of  doing  just  what  I  am  doing. 
Yet  I  was  afraid.  Did  n't  you  know  I  would 
come?" 

"Know,  my  child!  Was  I  not  writing  this  very 
day?  All  these  lost  years  I  have  longed  for  you, 
only  to  see  you,  to  look  at  you  as  I  am  looking 
now  —  and  I  was  afraid,  too.  I  said  to  myself, 
perhaps  it  is  better  so.  Who  knows  whether  this 
child  born  in  a  strange  land  will  love  her  old  French 
grandmother?  Perhaps  it  will  be  one  more  dis 
illusion,  one  more  than  I  can  bear.  I  was  like  one 
of  those  stones  brought  down  by  the  torrent, 
which  finds  a  resting-place,  which  wears  for  itself 
a  cavity  in  the  rock  over  which  the  waters  pass 
without  molesting  it  any  more.  And  you"  —  She 
drew  the  head  into  her  lap,  stroking  the  hair  with 
her  thin  hand  —  "you  bring  the  spring,  the  spring 
that  comes  to  the  heart  in  life's  winter,  the  spring 
you  will  not  know  till  you  have  exhausted  your 
own,  till  you  begin  to  gather  for  others  the  flow 
ers  you  once  gathered  for  yourself." 

Helen  could  not  speak.  She  had  wanted  love, 
happiness  —  and  they  stifled  her. 

"Tiens!"  —  the  hand  had  discovered  the  dia 
mond  cross  in  its  hiding-place  under  the  stole  — 
"that  was  your  mother's.  I  remember  the  day  her 
father  gave  it  to  her."  She  touched  it  caressingly, 
but  brushed  the  crowding  memories  aside.  "  Mon 
Dieul  mademoiselle!"  she  exclaimed  playfully, 
"when  you  came  into  this  room  you  were  smiling. 

109 


HELEN 


Lift  up  your  face  • —  eh,  you  must?  Well,  then,  let 
them  come  —  those  tears  do  no  harm."  She 
slipped  the  cross  back  again  into  its  place.  "That 
reminds  me.  Give  me  the  box  in  the  drawer  of 
the  escritoire.  How  wonderful  that  I  should  have 
taken  it  to-day  from  the  safe !  There  are  presen 
timents  not  accounted  for  by  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  —  no,  the  second  drawer  —  yes,  that  is  it. 
Sit  down,  dear,  close  beside  me."  She  took  the 
box  from  Helen's  hand.  ' '  These  are  your  mother's 
letters  —  precious  letters  —  I  was  reading  them 
to-day.  You  shall  take  them  with  you,  and  some 
day  we  will  read  them  again  together.  These  are 
Hector's"  — 

"May  I  not  take  them  too?" 

Madame  de  Chavigny  hesitated. 

"You  wish  them  also?  Well,  take  them  —  we 
will  have  no  secrets ;  and  when  you  read  them  you 
will  say  to  yourself,  it  is  nothing,  a  bagatelle:  but 
this"  —  her  hand  went  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
box  and  drew  out  a  shagreen  case  —  "this  is  not 
a  bagatelle.  Your  grandfather  presented  it  to  me 
the  day  of  our  marriage.  It  is  a  little  old-style. 
Perhaps  nowadays  emeralds  are  not  set  in  this 
fashion,  but  with  your  hair  — " 

' '  Grandmamma  — ' ' 

"Come,  come,  mademoiselle"  —  fighting  her 
own  tears  —  "we  will  have  no  more  weeping, 
though  it  becomes  you  mightily.  At  present,  nat 
urally,  they  are  not  suitable  for  you.  But  some 

no 


HELEN 


day,  when  you  are  married  quand  le  cceur  dispose" 
—  the  crowding  memories  had  their  way  at  last. 
"  I  was  at  the  Opera,  a  young  girl  like  you,  watch 
ing  Marguerite  putting  on  her  jewels,  when  your 
grandfather  came  and  asked  to  be  presented. 
How  I  trembled!  And  now  these  things  remain, 
while  that  which  is  a  thousand  times  more  pre 
cious  passes  away." 

She  dropped  the  shagreen  case  into  the  box  and 
closed  the  lid.  It  fell  with  a  little  snap,  shutting 
in  the  memories. 

"And  your  Jack,  what  is  he  like?  You  must 
bring  him  to  me  at  once." 

"Jack  and  I  are  quite  different.  He's  wild  over 
going  home." 

"Home?"  repeated  the  old  lady  wistfully. 

"He  worships  everything  American." 

"What  will  you  do  without  him,  little  mother?  " 

"I  shall  have  you,  and  you  will  have  me." 

"You  have  no  wish  to  go  to  your  own  coun 
try?" 

"Why  do  you  call  it  my  country?  Is  not  yours 
mine?  It  was  my  mother's.  I  belong  to  two 
countries." 

"One  can  really  belong  to  one  only,  and  those 
who  cross  the  great  ocean  leave  country  behind. 
God  forbid  it  should  be  otherwise.  You  are  right 
to  let  him  go.  He  belongs  to  another  race,  the 
race  which  adopted  my  Hector  and  took  from 
me  your  mother — " 

in 


HELEN 


"But  you  forgave  her,  grandmamma,  you  for 
gave  her." 

"  I  did  more,  my  child."  Over  the  upturned  face 
she  saw  the  man  between  the  tapestries,  whom  she 
had  forgiven  too.  "And  this  Monsieur  Fearing, 
he  is  good  to  you,  you  like  him?" 

"Jack  adores  him." 

"And  you,  dear?" 

"He  guards  Jack  —  and  the  money  —  he 
does  n't  guard  me." 

Madame  de  Chavigny  smiled. 

"You  must  bring  him  to  me  some  day.  I  should 
like  to  see  him  also." 

"He  is  in  London  now.  When  he  comes  back, 
if  he  ever  does,  the  Princess  will." 

Tatia!  She  had  forgotten  her!  What  would 
Tatia  think!  She  must  go  at  once.  To-morrow? 
Yes,  and  the  next  day,  and  the  next  —  every  day. 
There  was  the  clasp  of  strong  young  arms  about 
the  neck,  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  bosom  against  her 
own,  the  pressure  of  fresh,  warm  lips  on  her  cheek, 
and  Madame  de  Chavigny  was  alone  —  a  stray 
violet  petal  in  her  lap. 

At  the  door  of  the  anteroom  Helen  in  her  haste 
ran  into  the  arms  of  a  young  man  who  was  wait 
ing  to  be  admitted.  He  was  expecting  the  appear 
ance  of  the  dignified  and  ceremonious  Jacques 
when  this  whirlwind  of  loveliness  and  happiness 
burst  upon  him,  knocking  his  hat  from  his  hand. 
There  was  a  stammering  exchange  of  apologies,  a 

112 


HELEN 


furious  rushing  of  blood  to  cheeks,  a  meeting  and 
parting  of  eyes,  a  passing  fragrance  of  violets,  a 
patter  of  heels  on  the  stone  steps,  and  Monsieur  de 
Tr6court,  groping  for  his  hat  on  the  dimly  lighted 
landing,  was  muttering  to  himself :  — 

"Norn  de  Dieul  It  is  the  cave  of  ^Eolus!" 


XII 

HARDLY  had  Helen  ensconced  herself  in  the  deep 
cushions  of  the  limousine,  her  precious  letters 
tightly  grasped  beneath  her  stole,  when  the  young 
man  of  the  encounter  on  the  landing  came  breath 
less  and  bareheaded  through  the  archway,  Ma 
dame  de  Chavigny's  box  in  his  hand. 

"Pardon,  mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  motioning 
to  the  chauffeur  to  wait,  "Madame  la  Comtesse 
begs  me  to  deliver  to  you  what  doubtless  in  your 
haste"  —  the  eyes  sparkled  maliciously  —  "you 
have  forgotten.  She  assures  me  also  that  what  I 
have  the  honor  to  bring  you  is  most  precious  — " 

The  color  mounted  to  Helen's  cheeks  as  she 
put  out  her  hand. 

"Thank  you;  I  am  sorry  to  have  so  inconven 
ienced  —  " 

"  But  it  is  no  inconvenience !  it  is  an  inestimable 
privilege,  and  I  assure  you  if  what  I  hold  in  my 
hand  is  as  precious  as  Madame  de  Chavigny  as 
serts,  I  am  confident  it  was  not  her  intention  that 
I  should  deliver  it  till  you  were  safe  in  your  hotel." 

"Did  Madame  de  Chavigny  —  " 

"Oh,  please,  mademoiselle,"  he  interrupted 
again  pleadingly,  "do  not  question  me  too  closely. 
Let  us  think  only  of  the  contents  of  this  precious 
box." 

114 


HELEN 


Helen  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  This 
young  man  was  certainly  very  amusing,  and  his 
speech  was  the  speech  of  a  mountain  torrent.  She 
was  resolved  not  to  smile,  and  kept  her  mouth 
firmly  in  hand,  but  she  was  at  that  moment  in 
toxicated  with  happiness  and  could  not  altogether 
banish  a  strange  delight  from  her  eyes. 

"  The  streets  of  Paris  are  not  so  unsafe,  mon 
sieur,  that — " 

But  he  would  not  let  her  finish. 

''That  is  true.  I  admit  that  we  are  not  in  the 
region  of  Apaches  —  nevertheless,  with  precious 
things  too  much  caution  is  impossible." 

His  voice  was  not  insistent,  only  imploring  — 
the  eager  voice  of  a  child.  How  absurd  he  was! 
She  began  to  laugh,  the  low,  inextinguishable 
laughter  of  youth. 

"  But  I  do  not  know  you,  monsieur.  There  is  no 
need—" 

"Mademoiselle,  I  am  Jean  Francois  Henri  — 
you  see  it  is  a  long  story,  too  long  to  detain  you 
in  this  manner  —  de  Trecourt,"  he  continued,  in 
utter  disregard  of  one  argument  while  hastening 
to  another,  "and  I  am  a  not  too  distant  relative 
of  Madame  de  Chavigny,  and  most  trustworthy." 

"Tr6court!"  she  murmured  under  her  breath; 
"that  was  one  of  my  mother's  names." 

"There!  you  see,"  he  cried  triumphantly;  "I 
have  the  right  to  accompany  you  —  we  might 
even  be  some  sort  of  cousins." 


HELEN 


"  But  you  have  no  hat,  Monsieur  de  Trecourt." 

Unguarded  admission! 

"Ah,  for  that  you  have  no  right  to  reproach 
me,  since  it  is  for  you  I  abandoned  it  up  there 
at  Madame  de  Chavigny's  door." 

The  lips  parted  above  the  point  of  the  small 
chin,  and  the  firm  lines  of  the  mouth  broke  again. 
It  was  delicious  to  be  free! 

"  Come,  then,  sit  there  in  front  of  me  and  finish 
your  story." 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  attribute  your  kindness  solely 
to  this  precious  box  which  you  were  so  good  as  to 
forget,  and  if  it  is  your  pleasure  I  will  sit  here  till 
time  comes  to  an  end.  When  I  had  the  good  for 
tune  just  now  to  lay  my  hat  at  your  feet,  I  was 
on  my  way  to  present  my  respects  to  Madame 
de  Chavigny,  who  is  my  godmother  —  Does  my 
humble  tale  interest  you?" 

"Go  on,  monsieur." 

"  I  reside  in  Avrincourt,  which  is  in  the  Depart 
ment  of  Seine-et-Oise,  a  territory  which  once 
formed  a  part  of  the  kingdom  of  France,  and  I 
have  come  to  Paris  to  take  my  examination  in  the 
English  and  German  languages  —  perhaps  you 
speak  these  languages,  mademoiselle." 

"One  language  at  present  is  quite  sufficient  for 
me,  monsieur,"  said  Helen,  leaning  back  in  the 
farthest  corner  the  better  to  keep  his  eyes  at  bay. 
"As  for  you,  I  counsel  you  to  tell  your  Professor 
at  the  Lyc6e  that  more  than  one  is  superfluous." 

116 


HELEN 


"Oh,  mademoiselle,  I  implore  you,"  he  pro 
tested,  "do  I  look  like  a  collegian!  You  compel 
me  to  state  that  I  am  twenty-three,  and  that  the 
examinations  I  speak  of  are  held  at  the  Quai 
d'Orsay  in  the  Ministry  for  Foreign  Affairs.  I 
aspire  to  be  a  diplomat." 

"You  will  make  a  famous  one,  Monsieur  de 
Tr£court;  of  that  I  am  sure." 

1 '  That  is  as  it  may  be, ' '  he  said  dubiously.  ' '  You 
are  not  of  my  father's  opinion.  He  is  forever  quot 
ing  the  maxim  of  Monsieur  de  Talleyrand.  When 
I  have  passed  my  examinations  I  will  endeavor  to 
make  my  speech  conceal  my  thoughts.  But  for  the 
present  I  beg  you  to  observe  that  if  I  had  followed 
the  advice  of  Monsieur  de  Talleyrand  I  should 
not  now  be  here — "  The  motor  stopped.  "Oh, 
mon  Dieu!  already!  these  motors,  how  terribly 
fast  they  go!" 

His  hand  was  on  the  door. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Monsieur  de  Tr6court. 
You  forget  you  have  no  hat." 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  an  outcast,  and  I  disgrace  you. 
Oh,  mademoiselle,  if  we  should  return  for  it!" 

"Monsieur  de  Trecourt,"  frowning,  "my  box, 
if  you  please." 

He  yielded  it  reluctantly. 

"Some  day  you  will  come  to  my  godmother's 
again  —  will  you  not?  I  am  positive  she  adores 
you." 

The  frown  deepened. 


HELEN 


"  Monsieur  de  Tr6court,  Madame  de  Chavigny 
is  my  grandmother." 

1  'Your  grandmother!"  He  took  the  words  out 
of  her  mouth. 

The  discovery,  so  far  from  disconcerting  him, 
filled  him  with  joy.  "Then  certainly  I  shall  see 
you  again." 

The  frown  was  now  so  dark  he  opened  the  door 
instantly. 

"  Peter,"  she  said  to  the  chauffeur  coldly,  "you 
will  take  Monsieur  de  Trecourt  back  to  the  Rue 
du  Bac.  That  will  be  all  to-night." 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  a  voice  through  the  win 
dow  of  the  limousine,  "I  am  here  like  an  animal 
in  a  cage,  but  if  I  had  my  hat  I  would  follow  that 
frown  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

The  averted  face  turned,  their  eyes  met,  and 
the  frown  melted  away.  He  was  too  ridiculous! 

"Au  revoir,"  he  whispered. 

With  an  impulse  regretted  a  second  too  late  she 
tore  the  violets  from  her  corsage  and  dropped 
them  within  the  open  window. 

Alone  in  her  room  that  night,  Helen  went  to 
the  drawer  in  whose  farther  corner  under  the  lin 
gerie  reposed  Madame  de  Chavigny's  leather  box. 
Above  the  letters  was  the  shagreen  case.  She 
turned  on  the  lights  either  side  of  the  mirror, 
spreading  the  emeralds  on  the  white  cover  of  the 
dressing-table.  Very  paltry  in  comparison  was 

118 


HELEN 


her  mother's  little  cross  of  diamonds,  yet  it  was 
the  cross  she  kissed  before  replacing  the  emeralds 
in  their  case. 

Old  and  yellow  they  were,  these  letters  of  her 
mother's,  each  in  its  own  envelope  with  queer, 
old-fashioned  stamps,  addressed  in  a  fine  hand 
and  beginning,  "Chere  petite  maman."  She 
thrust  them  back  hurriedly  into  the  drawer  at  the 
sound  of  footsteps. 

It  was  only  Jack,  coming,  as  he  always  did  be 
fore  going  to  bed,  to  relate  his  adventures  and 
confess  his  sins. 

He  stretched  himself  out  on  the  hearth-rug  be 
fore  the  fire,  full  of  aviation  marvels,  in  which  he 
thought  Helen  lacked  a  decent  interest.  She  had 
on  a  new  n£glig6 ,  not  made  in  the  Villa  Fontana, 
of  which  he  highly  approved,  and  he  promised 
cheerfully  to  go  with  her  the  next  afternoon  to 
Madame  de  Chavigny's,  although  his  experience 
with  grandmothers  did  not  excite  his  enthusiasm. 

Lying  on  his  stomach,  elbows  on  rug  and  chin 
in  hands,  his  eyes  fixed  admiringly  on  the  n£glig6, 
he  suddenly  broke  out  with:  "Helen,  do  you  re 
member  that  day  we  went  to  Dolceaqua?" 

"Yes,  Jack.  Why?" 

"And  do  you  remember  that  little  boy  we  found 
asleep  under  the  olive  tree  at  Camporosso?" 

"Yes." 

"You  said  he  was  so  beautiful  you  wanted  to 
kiss  him  —  and  I  would  n't  let  you." 

119 


HELEN 


"What  makes  you  think  of  that,  Jack?" 

Jack  sat  up.  "  You  were  ever  so  much  younger 
then,  Helen." 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"Ever  so  much.  Say,  Helen." 

"What?" 

"  You  look  just  the  way  you  did  then  • —  ever  so 
much  younger." 

"That's  nonsense,  Jack.  I'm  ever  so  much 
older." 

"You  do;  it  isn't  nonsense.  And  the  funny 
thing  is  you  seem  so  much  older  —  so  do  I." 

"You  had  better  go  to  bed,  Jack,  if  you  want 
to  grow  up  to  be  really  old." 

Jack  rose,  yawned,  and  went  over  and  kissed 
her  —  grandiloquently. 

"  I  'm  glad  I  did  n't  let  you  kiss  that  boy." 

"Why?"  she  laughed. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  How  he  jumped  when  I 
dropped  that  olive  on  his  chin!" 

"Jack,  you're  a  horrid  boy." 

"I  know  I  am,  and  you're  a — "  He  finished 
the  sentence  with  another  longer  kiss,  this  time 
in  the  curves  of  the  neck.  "Good-night." 

After  he  had  gone  she  went  back  to  the  letters 
• —  not  her  mother's,  Hector's.  What  did  her 
grandmother  mean  by  saying  it  was  only  a 
bagatelle? 

There  were  only  two  —  one  a  message  for  a 
name-day,  the  other  dated  only  a  year  ago. 

120 


HELEN 


I  have  to-day  made  a  will,  following  your  instruc 
tions.  You  say  you  want  nothing  but  my  love.  How 
can  I  give  you  what  you  have  already?  And  that  it  is 
your  wish  that  all  should  go  to  H61ene's  children.  So 
be  it.  That  was  also  my  wish,  which  I  now  carry  out 
with  your  approbation. 

A  bagatelle!   O  grandmamma,  grandmamma! 

And  I  think  I  have  selected  some  one  in  whom  we 
may  have  confidence  to  carry  out  our  wishes  when  we 
two  are  no  longer  here. 

She  thrust  the  letter  quickly  into  the  box, 
slipped  from  one  neglig6  into  another,  turned 
out  the  lights,  and  stole  into  bed. 

Oh,  yes,  she  remembered  that  day  at  Campo- 
rosso,  the  wide  valley  warm  with  color,  the  stuc 
coed  houses  splashed  with  yellow,  the  red  tiles  of 
the  campanile  of  San  Sebastiano,  and  the  green 
waters  of  the  Nervia  hurrying  to  the  blue  sea.  She 
could  hear  now  the  rickety  old  omnibus  rumbling 
by,  its  axles  groaning  under  its  load  of  peasants. 
The  leaves  of  the  olives  were  silvery  in  the  sun  — 
and  the  little  boy  asleep  —  what  a  tease  Jack  was ! 
And  farther  on,  just  beyond  the  bend  in  the  road, 
the  sun  had  disappeared,  the  valley  narrowed  and 
deepened,  the  Nervia  became  a  rocky  torrent,  and 
the  twin  towers  of  the  Doria  appeared  above  the 
black  roofs  of  Dolceaqua.  She  had  wanted  to  go 
back,  but  Jack  would  go  on,  into  the  twilight  of 
the  narrow  streets  slippery  with  oil,  up  the  steps 
under  the  vaulted  passage  to  the  bastions  of  the 

121 


HELEN 


castle,  past  the  men*  lounging  before  the  wine 
shop,  the  children  playing  in  the  damp  doorways, 
the  women  washing  in  the  river  above  the  mill. 
How  far  and  long  ago  it  seemed !  They  were  real 
children  then,  truants,  too,  whose  raid  had  cost 
them  liberty  for  weeks  afterward ;  and  Jack,  ever 
indignant  at  wrongs,  had  been  caught  in  the  act 
of  writing  a  letter  to  the  mythical  French  grand 
mother  whom  he  vaguely  classified  with  Santa 
Claus  and  other  unseen  deities  of  his  childish 
Pantheon.  She  smiled  at  the  recollection,  back 
again  on  the  tabouret  in  the  Rue  du  Bac.  "One 
can  belong  to  only  one  country."  The  curly- 
headed  boy  asleep  under  the  olives  was  no  kin 
of  hers.  No  ancestors  of  hers  had  harvested  the 
chestnuts  on  those  rocky  slopes.  What  was  her 
country?  Not  Dolceaqua — the  eyes  began  to 
close,  the  mind  began  to  wander.  For  the  second 
time  a  man  —  this  time  a  mere  boy  —  what  a 
persistent  ridiculous  boy !  —  had  brought  her 
jewels.  A  voice  in  the  far  distance  droned,  "  I  am 
Jean  Francois  Henri  — "  the  lips  curved  again  in 
a  smile,  the  veils  of  sleep  fell  softly  one  by  one, 
and  the  grim  Doria  towers,  looking  down  above 
Dolceaqua,  indifferent  to  time,  contemptuous  of 
the  present,  grew  dim  and  disappeared. 

"Dimitri,"  the  Princess,  also  in  neglige,  was 
that  moment  saying,  "  imagine  where  Helen  has 
been  this  afternoon  —  alone." 

122 


HELEN 


uTo  her  grandmother's." 

"She  told  you!"  There  was  a  hint  of  jealousy 
in  the  voice. 

"No." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  guessed  it!" 

"Where  else  should  she  go  alone?  It  has  been 
in  her  eyes  ever  since  we  left  Nice." 

Tatia  winced.  Her  plans  had  gone  astray.  She 
could  not  reasonably  complain,  though  she  had 
thought  to  cross  that  bridge  herself.  Was  Helen 
getting  out  of  hand? 

"She  brought  back  the  Chavigny  emeralds  with 
her." 

"  Did  she?  "  said  Dimitri,  not  at  all  impressed. 
"She  deserves  them." 

What  else  Helen  brought  back  the  Princess  did 
not  say,  though  she  was  at  the  window  when  the 
motor  returned. 


XIII 

FEARING' s  face,  as  he  came  down  the  grand  stair 
case  of  the  Carleton,  wore  the  abstracted  expres 
sion  of  a  man  who  is  uncertain  what  to  do.  He 
had  a  bundle  of  cables  and  unopened  letters  in 
his  hand  not  in  keeping  with  his  evening  dress. 
He  had  been  in  the  City  all  day,  and  the  bundle 
was  proof  that  evening  dress  had  not  wholly  di 
vorced  him  from  City  affairs.  It  was  in  his  mind 
to  look  over  his  correspondence  between  the 
courses  of  his  dinner,  dinner  not  being  for  him  a 
necessarily  solemn  function  of  purely  physical 
enjoyment.  Perhaps,  afterwards,  he  would  stroll 
out  in  search  of  an  hour's  distraction  at  the  near 
est  theatre. 

He  sat  down  quietly  at  a  table  in  a  remote 
corner  of  the  restaurant,  laid  his  mail  beside  his 
plate,  and  opened  the  uppermost  of  its  variously 
assorted  documents.  It  happened  to  be  a  laconic 
note  from  the  Princess  Ghica  announcing  the  fact 
that  they  had  secured  an  apartment  in  a  desirable 
quarter,  and  suggesting  that  the  inroads  of  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix  on  his  check  required  attention. 
She  was  not  speaking  for  Helen,  but  merely  "as 
a  business  woman  to  a  business  man — "the 
adjectives  underlined  —  who  would  recognize  the 

124 


HELEN 


necessity  for  definite  arrangements.  She  could 
not  be  expected  to  assume  the  responsibility  for 
Helen  with  one  foot  in  the  air! 

He  put  the  letter  down  and  took  up  another. 
The  waiter  handed  him  the  menu  obsequiously. 
Assertiveness  in  its  blatant  forms  was  not  one  of 
his  characteristics.  There  was  nothing  of  con 
scious  self-importance  in  his  manner.  But  there 
was  something  about  him  which  the  discerning 
servitor  always  detected  as  worth  instant  and  un 
remitting  attention.  He  ordered  his  dinner  with 
out  reference  to  the  menu,  the  open  letter  in  his 
hand,  untroubled  by  the  perplexities  of  choice, 
and  shook  his  head  at  the  maitre-d'h6tel  who 
spread  the  wine-list  before  him  at  its  most  attrac 
tive  page. 

Halfway  through  this  disposition  of  dinner  and 
business,  a  short,  thick-set  man  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  a  waist  line  which  proclaimed  din 
ner  to  be  his  chief  quest,  sauntered  through  the 
doorway.  He  stopped  here  and  there  to  exchange 
a  greeting,  but  his  small,  quick  eye  had  detected 
the  occupant  of  the  table  in  the  corner. 

"Well,  by  all  the  gods!"  he  exclaimed,  reaching 
out  a  short,  thick  hand. 

"Hullo,  Jim,"  said  Fearing;  "glad  to  see  you. 
Are  you  dining?" 

"Dining!  of  course  I'm  dining.  What  do  you 
suppose  I'm  here  for?" 

"Sit  down  and  dine  then,"  said  Fearing. 

125 


HELEN 


"Well,  well,  it's  good  to  see  you.  Alone,  as 
usual?" 

"For  the  present,  yes." 

"For  the  present!  Where's  Mrs.  Fearing?" 

"She's  not  in  sight  yet.  Where's  Mrs.  Jim?" 

"  Paris  —  bound  for  Egypt  —  where  I  ought  to 
be,  out  of  this  damned  beastly  fog." 

"New  York  for  winter  sunshine,  Jim." 

"That's  so.  Best  winter  climate  in  the  world 
if  you  don't  mind  the  thermometer.  I'd  almost 
forgotten  it." 

"You've  bought  over  here,  have  n't  you?" 

"Yes,  anchored  fast.  Town  house  —  shut  up 
now  —  moor  in  Scotland.  Madge  '11  never  go 
back." 

"Given  up  painting." 

"Oh,  no,  but  between  you  and  me,  you  know, 
—  I  don't  mind  confessing  it,  —  I  've  done  with 
the  money  end  of  the  brush.  Got  a  studio  on  the 
top  floor  where  the  men  smoke  after  dinner  — 
tapestry,  men  in  armor,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  The  women  love  it.  Madge  serves  tea 
there  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  whiskey-and- 
soda  's  on  the  sideboard.  The  grubbing  days  are 
over." 

"So  I've  heard.  You  should  n't  have  married 
money,  Jim.  It's  sure  death  to  work." 

"Yes,  of  course.  But  what 's  work  for  —  money, 
is  n't  it?  I  Ve  got  the  money  without  the  work. 
Come,  now,  what  else  are  you  working  for?" 

126 


HELEN 


"Work's  sake,  I  suppose." 

"  All  bosh  —  sheer  nonsense,  and  you  know  it. 
When  Madge  played  the  angel  she  turned  the 
Garden  of  Eden  story  upside  down  —  drove  me 
in  instead  of  out." 

"I'm  glad  you're  on  the  side  of  the  gate  you 
like,"  Fearing  said  dryly. 

"Oysters!"  said  Jim  to  the  waiter;  "no,  that's 
one  thing  I  can't  stand.  Copperheads!" 

"Don't  raise  international  questions,"  inter 
posed  Fearing. 

Jim  gave  his  order  and  crossed  his  arms  on  the 
table  enquiringly. 

"What 's  up?  Awfully  sorry  the  house  is  closed. 
Shall  I  put  you  up  at  the  club?" 

"Thanks;  I'm  crossing  to-morrow." 

"Channel  or  pond?" 

"Channel." 

Jim  glanced  at  the  letters.  "Not  work  over 
there." 

"No;  a  little  run  with  the  motor  before  going 
home." 

"What,  alone!" 

"No,  not  alone." 

The  turtle  soup  paused  halfway  to  the  lips. 

"Hope  I'm  not  inquisitive." 

"  Not  a  bit.    I  Ve  got  my  family  over  there." 

"Oh,  I  see"  —  quite  satisfied  and  dropping  the 
subject  discreetly  —  "family  of  one." 

"  No,  two  —  a  boy  and  a  girl." 
127 


HELEN 


"The  devil  you  say!"  Curiosity  legitimate 
again.  "  Where 'd  you  pick  them  up?" 

"  I  did  n't.  To  be  strictly  truthful  they  picked 
me  up." 

Mystified,  Jim  wavered  between  the  soup  and 
curiosity.  Having  no  longer  any  business  of  his 
own,  his  interest  was  keen  in  that  of  others. 

"Picked  you  up!  What  do  you  mean?" 

Fearing  bowed  to  the  inevitable. 

"Do  you  remember  Chavigny  in  New  York?" 

"Chavigny?  Certainly.  Used  to  be  Consul- 
General —  remember  him  well.  What's  he  got 
to  do  with  it?" 

"Nothing  now,  Jim,"  smiled  Fearing,  enjoying 
the  pertinacity.  "He's  dead." 

"  Is  that  so !  Fine  old  chap,  Chavigny  was.  Had 
a  devilish  pretty  sister,  too,  —  killed  in  a  wreck 
over  here,  was  n't  she?" 

"Yes;  these  are  her  children." 

"Oh,  I  see"  —  not  seeing  at  all.  "Where  do 
you  come  in?" 

"As  executor." 

"  Chavigny 's?  Did  n't  know  he  had  any  money. 
There  was  a  family  row  there  somewhere,  was  n't 
there?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now  all  about  it. 
Made  quite  a  stir,  that  accident  did.  Madge  saw 
the  grandmother  once.  Has  a  regular  botanical 
garden  somewhere  on  the  Riviera.  Stiff  old  lady ! 
Why  did  n't  you  leave  the  kids  with  her?" 

"I  did  n't  wish  to." 

128 


HELEN 


"Oh,  motor  trip's  for  them,  eh?" 

Fearing,  who  was  smoking  now,  leaned  back 
and  surveyed  his  friend  meditatively.  There  was 
nothing  to  suggest  the  table  manners  of  the  Zo 
ological  Garden,  but  there  was  the  same  intense 
satisfaction. 

"  For  the  boy,  yes.   I  am  taking  him  back  with 


me." 


"Humph !  Girl  must  be  pretty  if  she 's  anything 
like  her  mother." 

"Pretty  is  n't  exactly  the  word,  Jim." 

The  diminutive  was  no  evidence  of  affectionate 
familiarity.  James  Stuart,  one-time  artist,  was 
'Jim'  to  everybody.  It  was  as  impossible  to  as 
cend  to  formal  '  James '  as  it  would  be  to  address 
the  French  bulldog  Bob  on  the  bearskin  in  Mr. 
Stuart's  studio  as  'Robert.'  Neither  the  dog  nor 
his  master  resented  the  diminutive  as  implying 
a  disparaging  condescension. 

Jim  laid  down  the  weapons  with  which  he  was 
attacking  the  duck  and  looked  over  at  Fearing 
paternally.  He  was  by  far  the  older  of  the  two 
and  inclined  to  advice  on  worldly  topics. 

"  My  boy,"  he  began,  waving  his  fork  to  enforce 
the  statement  — 

"There's  no  occasion  to  worry  about  that," 
said  Fearing  shortly. 

"Oh,  fatherly  interest,  is  it?"  Jim  retreated  in 
good  order.  "You  can't  shut  your  eyes  to  sex,"  he 
said  sententiously,  steering  his  way  out  through 

129 


HELEN 


generalities.  "Always  get  beaten  at  that.  Better 
give  it  a  wide  berth.  The  women  have  got  the 
Government  groggy  over  here.  After  they've 
abolished  all  the  differences  they  can  —  well, 
there's  no  use  talking.  They'll  rouse  the  old 
Adam  in  us  yet,  before  they  get  through  —  makes 
me  clench  my  fist  every  time  I  see  one  —  and  I  'm 
a  decent  fellow.  Say,  Fearing,"  changing  the  sub 
ject  abruptly,  "  I'm  glad  I  ran  across  you.  You  're 
the  very  man  I  wanted  to  see.  May  I  ask  you  a 
question?" 

"  You  Ve  asked  me  a  good  many  already." 

"This  is  another  sort,  your  kind.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  Colombo  Limited?" 

"Yes." 

"Madge  has  a  lot  of  it  —  preference  shares/' 

"Sell  it." 

"But  it's  going  up." 

"That's  the  reason." 

"Is  that  a  straight  tip?" 

"It's  no  tip  at  all.  You  asked  me  a  question. 
I  answered  it.  Now  I  '11  ask  you  one.  I  had  a  mind 
to  drop  into  the  Criterion  this  evening.  Is  it 
worth  while?" 

"Bully.  I  would  n't  mind  seeing  it  again  my 
self." 

"Well,  finish  your  dinner.  I'll  leave  these 
papers  with  my  secretary  and  join  you  in  the 
lobby.  We'll  go  together." 

Jim  drained  the  whiskey-and-soda,  lighted  his 

130 


HELEN 


cigar,  and  strolled  out  through  the  door.  "  Damned 
funny  fellow,  but  straight,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self.  "  I  '11  sell  that  stuff  to-morrow." 

"Who's  your  solemn  friend?"  asked  an  ac 
quaintance  at  a  table  of  ladies  as  he  passed  by. 

"  Fearing  —  New  York.  Say,  got  any  Colombo 
Limited?" 

"  Yes,  a  little.   Why?" 

"Chuck  it." 
•     "But  it's  going  up." 

"That's  the  reason.  Chuck  it."  And  he  passed 
on  with  the  air  of  the  man  who  knows. 

What  he  really  knew  was  that  Fearing's  word 
could  be  relied  upon  as  the  naked  truth,  without 
embroidery  or  omissions. 

He  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the  circular 
lounge  in  the  lobby,  one  leg  crossed  over  the  other. 
The  survey  of  life  from  a  condition  of  comfort  was 
his  main  resource.  Life  had  been  a  struggle  once. 
He  still  growled  at  it,  but  the  growl  of  comfort  had 
nothing  in  common  with  the  growl  of  poverty. 
Just  like  Fearing,  he  thought  —  to  load  himself 
up  with  a  boy.  You  can  thrash  a  boy  when  he 
goes  wrong  —  but  a  girl !  Wonder  if  he 's  going  to 
take  her  on,  too.  No  kids  for  him !  He  'd  sell  that 
stuff  of  Madge's  to-morrow,  sure. 

He  went  to  the  telegraph  office  and  asked  for  a 
blank. 


Fearing's  here.   Going  to  Paris.   Look  him  up.   I'll 
give  him  your  address.  JIM. 


HELEN 


"Shall  we  go?"  said  a  voice  at  his  elbow. 

"All  ready.  By  the  way,  Fearing,  you  must 
hunt  up  Madge  in  Paris.  She's  at  the  Imperial." 

"I  will,"  said  Fearing. 

Mr.  Stuart's  conversational  talents  were  neces 
sarily  suspended  during  the  three  acts  at  the  Cri 
terion.  The  stage  absorbed  his  undivided  atten 
tion.  Fearing,  not  so  easily  entertained,  utilized 
the  respite  in  reflections  —  reflections  suggested 
chiefly  by  the  conversation  at  the  dinner  table. 
Why  had  n't  he  left  Jack  with  his  grandmother? 
Why  had  he  picked  up,  as  Jim  phrased  it,  a 
strange  boy,  found  on  the  roadside  between  Men- 
tone  and  Ventimiglia,  instead  of  sending  a  monthly 
check  to  his  natural  guardian?  The  answer  to  that 
question  came  instantly:  because  it  was  for  the 
boy's  good,  and  because  he  wanted  him  to  have 
what  was  good  for  him.  Was  there  any  other  rea 
son?  When  he  made  up  his  mind  about  Jack,  it 
had  not  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  become 
in  any  way  involved  with  Helen.  Certainly  not. 
Interest  in  Jack  stopped  with  Jack.  What  had 
happened  afterwards?  Looking  the  problem 
squarely  in  the  face,  as  was  his  wont,  he  found 
himself  looking  into  the  face  of  Helen  —  Helen 
under  the  trellis  at  the  gate  of  the  Villa  Fontana, 
Helen  hurrying  down  the  path  from  the  lodge 
with  his  check  in  her  bosom,  Helen  as  depicted  by 
the  Princess  Ghica.  Of  course  he  was  interested 
in  her.  Who  would  n't  be  with  such  a  grand- 

132 


HELEN 


mother!  No  one  could  help  sympathizing  with 
her  —  sympathy,  no  doubt,  she  would  resent,  but 
sympathy.  He  had  had  the  power  to  put  a  little 
joy  into  her  life,  and  he  had  enjoyed  using  it. 
What  had  prompted  him  to  invest  that  franc  in 
the  little  sheep-girl  of  Ventimiglia?  The  same  de 
sire  to  put  a  little  joy  into  the  heart,  and,  surely, 
too,  to  see  it  blossom  in  the  stolid  face  —  both ; 
they  were  inseparable.  The  girl  was  not  a  musical 
instrument  incapable  of  the  emotion  it  produced. 
What  other  return  was  he  expecting?  None,  abso 
lutely  none.  Having  thought  the  matter  through 
to  this  conclusion,  he  dismissed  it. 

Of  the  Princess's  invitation  he  heartily  ap 
proved.  Its  acceptance  had  absolved  him  com 
pletely  from  all  responsibility  of  a  personal  kind. 
There  was  nothing  further  for  him  to  think  of  or 
to  do,  other  than  the  necessary  financial  arrange 
ments  very  properly  alluded  to  in  the  Princess's 
letter.  It  was  n't  even  necessary  to  go  to  Paris  for 
that.  He  could  give  Jack  a  run  in  England  — 
winter  was  winter  there  as  here. 

" I'm  going  over  myself  in  a  day  or  two,"  said 
Jim  as  the  curtain  fell.  "If  you'll  wait  a  bit  I'll 
cross  with  you." 

"No,  thanks,  I'm  sailing  in  a  fortnight." 

The  inference  was  that  he  had  no  time  to  spare, 
but  he  had  not  said  so. 

At  the  Carleton  entrance  they  exchanged  fare 
wells  after  the  fashion  of  their  greeting,  as  men 

133 


HELEN 


who  were  sure  to  meet  again  on  some  other  Rialto, 
and  Fearing  went  to  the  office  to  write  a  telegram, 
a  mode  of  correspondence  he  utilized  with  national 
liberality,  saying  he  would  arrive  in  Paris  the  fol 
lowing  evening. 

The  morning  broke  grey  and  sullen.  Before 
embarking  at  Dover  the  wind  came  up,  bringing  in 
a  wet,  heavy  fog.  The  steamer  was  crowded.  Not 
until  the  rising  sea  had  driven  the  more  sensitive 
below  could  he  find  a  place  to  sit  down.  He  pulled 
a  chair  into  the  shelter  of  a  companionway.  Noth 
ing  was  to  be  seen  save  now  and  then  a  white 
gleam  on  the  ragged  crest  of  a  baffled  wave,  hurled 
back  on  its  fellows  —  nothing  but  Jim  across  the 
table,  looking  at  him  from  under  heavy  eyelids, 
Jim,  attacking  the  duck.  The  obsession  of  Jim 
nauseated  him.  Why  had  he  talked  with  Jim  at 
all? 

He  acknowledged  a  certain  respect  for  the  ob 
sessions  of  others,  no  matter  how  preposterous 
they  were.  They  had  often  modified  his  conduct, 
while  not  deflecting  him  from  his  objective.  Ideas 
suggested  by  another  are  not  always  dismissed 
readily  simply  because  one  has  not  entertained 
them  one's  self.  He  was  not  destitute  of  imagina 
tion,  no  really  successful  business  man  is.  Jim 
had  switched  that  faculty  off  the  beaten  track  — 
brutally. 

Suddenly,  where  Jim  had  been,  the  lighthouse 
on  the  jetty  loomed  up  in  the  mist.  He  turned  up 

134 


HELEN 


his  coat  collar,  steadying  himself  against  the  lurch 
as  the  steamer  slid  into  smooth  water. 

"We're  in,  sir,"  said  a  deckhand,  touching  his 
cap,  "and  a  bit  nasty  it  was,  too,  sir." 

The  cheery  greeting  cleared  away  the  fog  in  his 
brain.  In  a  few  weeks,  New  York!  And  through 
the  mist  came  the  welcome  vision  of  a  black  mass 
of  towering  forms,  pierced  with  myriad  lights,  and 
above,  white  scarfs  of  steam  floating  away  in  the 
night. 

He  gave  his  sailor  friend  a  shilling  and  began  to 
get  together  his  luggage. 


XIV 

MADAME  DE  CHAVIGNY'S  best  Sevres  service  and 
silverware  were  seeing  the  light  after  years  of 
seclusion. 

Jacques,  with  outside  aid  impressed  for  the 
occasion,  had  been  busy  all  the  week  unearthing 
relics  of  former  splendor.  With  every  surface  re 
stored  to  its  pristine  brightness  he  regained  a  por 
tion  of  his  own  youth.  When  at  eight  o'clock  he 
stood  behind  Madame  de  Chavigny's  chair  his 
face  shone  in  the  light  of  the  candles  no  whit  less 
than  the  candelabra  he  had  polished.  Even  the 
faded  livery  forgot  its  shabbiness  as  he  moved 
about  behind  the  guests,  still  a  little  dazed  that 
the  sun  should  have  penetrated  this  narrow  street 
and  curtained  room  so  long  given  over  to  silence. 
Behind  one  chair  he  lingered  longest,  resentful 
in  his  service  of  the  prior  claims  of  a  Princess 
Ghica,  grande  dame  though  she  was,  —  for  to 
his  thinking  there  was  but  one  real  princess 
present,  the  princess  who  had  brought  back  the 
sun. 

She  was  sitting  beside  Monsieur  de  Trecourt, 
younger,  as  Jack  had  said,  than  ever;  and,  omit 
ting  many  irrelevant  interruptions  on  the  part 
of  less  important  persons,  this  is  what  they  were 
saying:  — 

136 


HELEN 


"  It  is  strange  that  you  did  not  know." 

"How  should  I  know,  mademoiselle?  Madame 
de  Chavigny  told  me  nothing.  She  seized  me  by 
the  coat  and  thrust  that  precious  box  into  my 
hands,  saying,  '  Run,  run  —  make  haste ! '  And  I 
ran.  Moreover,  you  did  not  tell  me  till  — " 

"You  talked  so  fast  I  had  no  opportunity." 

"But  I  was  obliged  to  talk  fast,  otherwise,  like 
Madame  de  Chavigny,  you  would  have  said, '  Run, 
go,  make  haste/  Not  till  I  returned  to  search  for 
my  hat  —  you  will  pardon  me  for  reminding  you 
of  that  hat,  will  you  not?  —  did  I  learn  who  you 
really  were." 

"It  makes  no  difference  who  I  am." 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  do  you  know  what  Mon 
sieur  Taine  says  of  a  certain  statue  in  the  Louvre 
that  has  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  its  arms?" 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"  It  seems  that  philosophers  have  disputed  over 
those  arms  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  discover  what 
the  lady  in  question  was  doing.  But  I  take  sides 
with  Monsieur  Taine  who  wisely  remarks  that  it 
makes  no  difference  what  she  was  doing,  it  being 
quite  sufficient  that  she  is." 

"  Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  Jacques  has  been  offer 
ing  you  — " 

"Oh,  pardon,"  —  helping  himself  to  the  salmon, 
"  I  was  thinking  of  that  lady  in  the  Louvre.  Might 
I  be  so  indiscreet  as  to  ask  you  a  question  ?  — 
whether  you  are  pleased  to  be  here?" 

137 


HELEN 


"What  a  question!  Why  should  I  not  be 
pleased  to  be  with  my  grandmother?" 

"Then  I  will  make  a  confession.  It  is  I  who 
am  responsible  for  this  dinner." 

"You!" 

"It  was  an  inspiration  that  entered  my  head 
when  I  returned  for  my  hat.  What !  I  said  to  my 
self,  you  are  the  granddaughter  of  Madame  de 
Chavigny,  you  have  just  arrived  from  America — " 

"You  are  mistaken.  It  is  years  since  I  was  in 
America." 

"Never  mind;  all  the  same  that  is  what  I  said, 
and  as  I  am  not  yet  a  diplomat  I  continue  to  say 
what  comes  into  my  head.  At  some  future  day, 
when  I  have  reached  a  grade  inconsistent  with 
truthfulness,  I  will  say,  '  What  do  I  care  where 
mademoiselle  chooses  to  reside?'  But  for  the 
present  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  lies  and  treachery. 
So  I  said  to  my  godmother,  'What!  she  is  from 
America,  she  is  perhaps  about  to  return  there,  and 
I  shall  never  have  the  occasion  to  apologize  for 
my  rudeness  • — ' ' 

"It  was  as  much  my  fault  as  yours." 

"'What!'  I  said,  'she  is  going  to  America—'" 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  America." 

"Did  I  know  that  at  that  time?    'Positively,' 
I  said,  'if  you  cannot  prevent  it  — " 
,    "  Monsieur  de  Trecourt ! " 

" ' —  if  you  cannot  prevent  it,  the  least  you  can 
do  is  to  offer  her  a  dinner.'  Oh,  we  had  a  famous 

138 


HELEN 


discussion !  To  begin  with,  you  were  not  going  to 
America.  Then,  you  see,  my  godmother  has  not 
gone  into  society  these  many  years.  Necessarily,  I 
observed,  it  must  be  a  family  dinner.  She  said  she 
had  no  gown  suitable,  the  plate  was  in  the  safe, 
the  china  —  you  cannot  imagine  all  the  difficul 
ties  we  had  with  the  china !  Little  difficulties,  you 
understand,  such  as  a  woman  brings  forward  when 
she  is  beginning  to  admit  that  they  count  for 
nothing.  But  with  a  woman  one  never  knows,  so, 
lest  at  the  last  moment  she  should  change  her 
mind,  I  redoubled  my  arguments  — " 

"Have  you  then  so  much  experience  with  wo 
men,  Monsieur  de  Tr6court?" 

"With  one  especially,  my  mother,  who  is,  as 
my  father  says,  all  women  compounded  into  one. 
You  see  her  over  there  now.  She  is  looking  at  me. 
I  wager  she  is  saying,  l  What  nonsense  is  he  talk 
ing?'  Dear  mamma!  she  has  the  weakness  of  all 
mothers.  In  order  to  restore  the  balance  my  father 
does  not  agree  with  her." 

For  several  minutes  which  seemed  hours  Helen's 
attention  was  monopolized  by  Dimitri,  who  sat  on 
her  right. 

"What  was  I  saying  when  — " 

"You  were  speaking  of  your  arguments." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  had  many.  But  the  chief  one  I 
made  no  use  of." 

"Let  us  talk  of  something  else,  Monsieur  de 
Tr6court." 

139 


HELEN 


"  Mademoiselle,"  —  the  voice  sank  lower, — 
"you  have  been  kind  to  me,  yet  to  mention  the 
least  of  your  kindnesses  would  be  to  abuse  them. 
Let  us  speak  by  all  means  of  what  does  not  inter 
est  us.  It  is  inadmissible  to  speak  as  children  — 
but,  do  you  know,  I  have  often  thought  that  if  we 
spoke  and  acted  as  children  do,  if  we  dared  to  be 
thoughtless—" 

"  I  was  thoughtless  the  other  night,  and  I  regret 
it." 

Monsieur  de  Tr6court  suddenly  remembered  the 
violets,  a  sample  of  which  were  reposing  that  mo 
ment  in  his  breast  pocket. 

"  Since  you  remember  it  sufficiently  only  to 
regret  it  I  am  satisfied." 

How  humble  he  was! 

"Let  us  not  talk  about  ourselves,"  was  the  val 
iant  reply;  "there  are  subjects  more  interesting." 

"But  we  are  not  talking  about  ourselves,"  he 
cried  gayly ;  "we  are  talking  of  each  other."  Then 
Madame  de  Chavigny  rose,  there  was  a  sound  of 
moving  chairs,  and  Helen's  gloves  slid  to  the  floor. 
"  For  you,  I  admit,"  he  whispered  as  he  gave  them 
to  her,  "it  is  a  dull  subject." 

"Try  to  remember  that,"  she  said  severely, 
taking  the  arm  Dimitri  offered  her. 

When  the  men  passed  into  the  library  Tr6court 
lingered  behind,  speaking  successively  to  several  of 
the  ladies  in  the  effort  to  make  himself  agreeable, 

140 


HELEN 


but  in  a  manner  so  preoccupied  that  failure  was 
inevitable. 

"Monsieur  de  Trecourt." 

He  started.  The  Princess  Ghica  was  speaking. 

"Come  and  sit  down  by  me.  You  are  not 
smoking?" 

"No,  madame,  not  when  I  have  something 
better  to  do." 

She  made  room  for  him  on  the  divan. 

"Your  father  has  been  speaking  to  me  of 
you." 

"Of  me,  madame!" 

"Oh,  do  not  be  alarmed.  I  form  my  own  opin 
ions,  and  I  begin  by  making  allowances.  He  tells 
me  you  are  about  to  enter  the  Service." 

"Yes,  madame.  I  passed  my  examinations  last 
week." 

"The  examinations  at  the  Quai  d'Orsay  are  not 
very  important  ones,"  she  said,  smiling;  "some 
times,  in  a  salon,  such  as  this  one  where  we  now 
are,  examinations  take  place  which  are  of  more 
consequence." 

He  gave  her  an  uneasy  glance. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  that  bird  which  hides  its 
head  in  the  sand  and  flatters  itself  that  it  has 
escaped  observation?" 

The  blood  surged  up  to  his  face. 

"Madame,  I  beg  of  you  to  choose  some  other 
subject.  My  studies  in  natural  history  have  been 
neglected." 

141 


HELEN 


The  Princess  laughed  behind  her  fan.  She  never 
delayed  her  declaration  of  war  or  offer  of  friend 
ship. 

"  Monsieur  de  Tr6court,"  she  said  with  a  sud 
den  seriousness  which  turned  his  confusion  into 
alarm,  "I  know  perhaps  even  less  than  you  do 
of  natural  history,  but  I  have  not  sat  opposite 
you  for  an  hour  to  no  purpose,  and  since  we  are  to 
be  comrades — " 

"Comrades,  madame!"  he  faltered. 

"Yes,  comrades.  Are  you  not  about  to  enter 
the  same  Service?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  forgot;  that  is  true." 

Jacques  was  serving  the  coffee.  What  was  this 
extraordinary  woman  about  to  say  next?  Yet  not 
for  worlds  would  he  change  the  conversation  or  seek 
to  escape  the  delicious  trouble  in  which  it  plunged 
him. 

"  Doubtless,  like  all  young  men,"  continued  the 
Princess,  "you  have  plans,  ambitions." 

"Ambitions,  oh,  yes,  madame  —  but  plans  — 
a  poor  attache  without  pay  —  he  does  not  make 
plans." 

"Well,  then,  instead  of  plans  let  us  say  pref 
erences.  Man  Dieu  !  at  your  age  I  had  both.  And 
you  are  wrong,  I  assure  you.  When  a  man  has 
acquired  reputation,  has  in  other  words  become  of 
use,  he  is  sent  where  he  is  needed,  without  regard 
to  his  preferences.  But  a  young  man,  a  poor 
attache  without  pay,  who  has  no  reputation  and 

142 


HELEN 


is  of  no  use  whatever,  what  does  it  matter  at  the 
foot  of  what  ladder  he  begins  to  climb!  Look, 
Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  you  have  put  three  lumps 
of  sugar  already  in  your  coffee.  So,  I  say,  in 
your  circumstances  preferences  are  not  to  be 
despised." 

"Madame,"  he  said,  not  knowing  what  to  say, 
and  saying  happily  the  first  thing  that  came  to 
mind,  "if  I  indulged  in  preferences  I  should  not 
dare  to  disclose  them." 

The  Princess  laughed  outright. 

"  True.  It  is  very  bad  taste  to  put  dots  on  every 
i.  Still,  when  one  has  preferences  it  is  not  suffi 
cient  to  indulge  in  them."  She  was  opening  and 
closing  her  fan  thoughtfully.  "Do  you  happen 
to  know  your  chief  in  the  Ministry,  Monsieur  de 
Trecourt?" 

"Monsieur  Coulomb,  the  Minister,  madame?" 

"We  will  think  about  it.  More  difficult  things 
have  been  accomplished.  But  go,  have  your 
cigar  — " 

"O  Princess,"  he  cried,  "if  I  could  persuade 
myself  that  you  were  my  friend  — " 

"  Persuade  yourself,  by  all  means  —  but  not  too 
much.  Recollect,  there  is  one  ladder  one  must 
climb  alone.  Will  you  take  my  cup,  please?  I  see 
Madame  de  Chavigny  beckoning  to  me.  If  you 
have  no  engagement  perhaps  you  will  come  for  a 
cup  of  tea  with  us  to-morrow  at  five." 

"At  five,  the  Imperial  — " 

'  143 


HELEN 


"  Well,  yes,"  she  laughed,  "for  the  present  it  is 
the  Imperial.  I  forgot  to  mention  our  hotel,  but 
it  seems  you  are  informed  of  everything." 

He  watched  her  cross  the  room,  and  hardly 
knowing  what  he  was  doing,  stumbled  into  the 
library. 

"Tatia,"  said  Helen  on  the  way  home,  "  I  have 
persuaded  grandmamma  to  take  tea  with  us  to 
morrow.  We  are  going  to  the  Bois  in  the  after 
noon.  She  has  never  been  in  a  motor.  We  can 
have  tea  in  the  small  salon  —  just  a  the  intime ,  you 
know." 

"Intime!"  echoed  the  Princess,  "and  I  have 
asked  that  young  Trecourt.  What  a  pity!" 

Helen  was  silent. 

"He  amused  me  so,"  Tatia  went  on.  "He  re 
minds  me  of  Fearing." 

"Mr.  Fearing!"  gasped  Helen.  "I  cannot  im 
agine  any  one  more  different." 

"They  both  say  exactly  what  they  think,"  said 
Tatia  emphatically. 

"But  they  think  such  different  things!" 

The  Princess  laughed.  "Naturally.  Tr6court 
is  only  a  boy  — " 

"Why,  Aunt  Tatia, "  said  Jack,  "he's  twenty- 
three." 

"Really,  Monsieur  Jack.   What  a  greybeard !" 

"He  has  n't  got  any  beard,"  said  Jack  stoutly, 
"but  he's  served  his  time  in  the  army.  He  was  in 

144 


HELEN 


the  aviation  corps,  and  he  holds  the  army  record 
for  altitude." 

"And  where,  pray,  did  you  obtain  all  this  in 
teresting  information?  Has  Monsieur  de  Tr6court 
been  boasting  to  you?" 

"No;  I  tried  to  make  him  tell  me  about  it,  but 
he  would  n't.  His  father  told  me." 

"So,  that  accounts  for  it.  I  lost  sight  of  you 
after  dinner.  You  were  smoking  with  the  gentle 
men  in  the  library,  I  presume." 

Jack  laughed.  "  I  should  like  to  go  up  in  a  fly 
ing  machine.  It  must  be  great  fun." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Helen. 
"It's  most  dangerous." 

Jack's  laugh  was  scornful  and  incredulous. 

The  Princess  went  to  Helen's  room  for  a  ciga 
rette  and  a  little  chat  before  retiring. 
4    "You  enjoyed  yourself  this  evening?" 

"  Immensely.    Is  n't  grandmamma  a  dear ! " 

"Yes,"  assented  the  Princess.  "We  are  a  long 
way  from  the  Villa  Fontana  already." 

Silence. , 

"I  wrote  this  morning." 

"Ah!  what  did  you  write?"  In  default  of  an 
immediate  answer  Tatia  asked  another  question. 
"What  does  she  write  you?" 

Silence  again. 

"It's  very  difficult  to  write  grandmamma," 
said  Helen  at  length.  "She  speaks  about  the  gar 
den.  She  does  n't  ask  any  questions.  I  told  her 

H5 


HELEN 


about  my  shopping,  and  the  Op6ra,  and  what  Jack 
was  doing.  It  is  n't  easy  to  share  happiness  with 
grandmamma.  I  sometimes  wonder  if  she  knows 
what  it  is." 

"Happiness,  my  child,  like  other  things,  grows 
old.  You  will  not  recognize  your  own  when  you 
are  my  age." 

"  You  are  not  serious,  Tatia." 

"Quite.  I  spend  my  time  saying  to  myself, 
'What  a  silly  ignoramus  you  were  then,  Tati- 
ana!'" 

Helen  laughed.  "At  any  rate,  one  can  share 
happiness  with  you,  for  you  give  it." 

"Do  I?" 

"You  know  you  do." 

The  Princess  stood  up,  thrusting  one  slippered 
foot  out  to  the  fire.  "Well,  in  that  case  give  me 
back  a  little  of  it.  I  adore  happiness."  Helen 
was  silent.  "  Nothing  in  particular  —  just  happi 
ness  in  general  —  is  that  it?" 

"Just  happiness  in  general." 

"  But  I  like  details  better.  Why  are  you  happy, 
Helen?" 

Curled  up  in  her  chair,  Helen  was  looking  dubi 
ously  at  the  Princess's  back. 

"Isn't  it  enough  that  grandmamma  is  com 
ing-'; 

"Quite enough,"  laughed  the  Princess,  throwing 
her  cigarette  into  the  fire.  "  Go  to  bed  now  and 
get  your  beauty  sleep.  You  have  such  need  of  it ! " 


XV 

DIMITRI  was  reading  when  Tatia  returned  to  the 
salon.  He  rose  as  she  entered,  and  she  gave  him 
her  friendly  smile  for  his  never-failing  courtesy. 

She  was  apparently  heedless  of  the  need  of  any 
beauty  sleep  for  herself,  for  although  it  was  late 
she  went  to  her  desk  and  began  to  write.  When 
she  had  finished  she  took  her  letter  to  Dimitri  and 
laid  it  on  the  open  page  of  his  book. 

"That's  an  excellent  letter,"  he  said,  handing 
it  back  to  her. 

"You  think  so?" 

"Excellent.  When  Coulomb  reads  it  he  will 
think  it  is  you  who  are  doing  him  a  favor." 

"Then  you  approve  of  it." 

"Decidedly.  It  is  a  masterpiece.  But  I  would 
not  send  it." 

She  looked  at  him  furtively,  while  taking  the 
combs  from  her  hair. 

"State  your  objections,  please,  Dimitri." 

"It  seems  to  me  they  are  obvious,  and  I  am 
positive  you  are  well  aware  of  them." 

"You  think  it  ill-advised  on  my  part  to  make 
such  a  suggestion?" 

"So  far  as  Coulomb  is  concerned,  no.  He  is  an 
excellent  fellow,  an  old  friend.  He  will  be  charmed 
to  do  what  he  can  to  please  you." 

147 


HELEN 


"But  you  have  objections.  Convince  me, 
please." 

"There  are  many.  To  begin  with,  there  is  the 
old  one  —  that  you  make  up  your  mind  too 
quickly." 

"Am  I  always  wrong,  Dimitri?" 

He  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  Rules,  Tatia  dear,  have  their  exceptions.  In 
this  case  your  affections  are  running  away  with 
you." 

She  was  playing  with  the  combs  in  her  lap, 
twisting  them  this  way  and  that  as  their  stones 
caught  the  light. 

"It  takes  you  so  long  to  come  to  the  point," 
she  sighed. 

"  My  dear  Tatia,"  taking  one  of  the  combs  from 
her  hand  and  examining  it  critically,  "is  it  neces 
sary  to  come  to  the  point,  as  you  say,  when  we 
both  understand  each  other  perfectly?" 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  that." 

"Oh,  if  you  throw  doubts  upon  —  upon  my 
intelligence  —  I  will  say  that,  although  I  did  not 
sit  opposite  our  young  friends  to-night  as  you 
did,  I  am  not  altogether  blind." 

"Ah,  then  you  saw!"  she  said  quickly. 

"  I  certainly  found  it  easier  to  engage  the  atten 
tion  of  the  neighbor  on  my  right  than  that  of  the 
young  lady  on  my  left.  I  know,  too,  since  I  know 
you  tolerably  well,  that  from  a  conversation  be 
tween  two  giddy  young  persons  at  dinner  you  are 

148 


HELEN 


drawing  conclusions  which  appear  to  me,  since 
you  insist  upon  it,  ridiculous." 

The  Princess  was  silent. 

"Everything,"  she  said  at  length,  musingly, 
"must  have  a  beginning,  and  some  things  begin 
with  what  you  call  giddiness." 

"  I  am  not  disputing  the  beginning;  I  am  think 
ing  of  the  end  —  the  conclusions  of  your  imagina 
tion.  Nor  do  I  blame  Monsieur  de  Trecourt  for 
being  a  bit  dazzled.  But,  seriously,  to  conclude 
from  a  single  meeting  — " 

"Two." 

"Two?" 

"  Yes,  two.  When  I  returned  the  other  day  I 
saw  Trecourt  in  the  motor  conversing  with  a 
young  lady  who,  in  order  to  rid  herself  of  him, 
was  obliged  to  give  him  the  violets  she  was 
wearing." 

"There!  You  see  now!  I  warned  you  in  Nice 
of  the  responsibility  you  were  assuming.  All  the 
more  reason  for  prudence.  You  wish  to  add  fuel 
to  the  fire." 

"Come,  come,  Dimitri,  try  to  be  logical.  You 
begin  by  saying  one  meeting  is  too  little,  and  now 
you  pretend  that  two  are  too  many." 

"Tatia,  it  is  impossible  to  argue  with  you." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  argue.  I  only  ask  what 
objections  you  have  to  Monsieur  de  Trecourt." 

" Good  Heavens,  Tatia!  I  only  know  the  young 
man  since  yesterday." 

149 


HELEN 


"  But  you  know  very  well  who  he  is.  You  have 
nothing  against  him,  no  objections  to  his  fam- 

ay." 

"None  whatever. " 

"Well,  then,  if—  " 

"Wait  a  moment.  You  are  proceeding  in  the 
wrong  direction.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  beginning. 
What  is  the  use  of  discussing  Tr6court's  family? 
Does  Helen  wish  to  enter  it?  Does  that  question 
concern  us?  I  know  that  you  love. Helen  — " 

"As  my  own  child." 

"That  explains,  but  it  does  not  justify." 

"Then  you  forbid  me  to  send  this  letter?" 

"You  know  very  well  that  is  an  ugly  word 
which  I  have  not  uttered.  I  counsel  you  to  sleep 
over  it,  to  give  yourself  time  for  reflection." 

Tatia  had  no  desire  to  reflect.  That  Dimitri 
was  right  she  was  well  aware.  She  had  given  way 
to  an  impulse.  But  after  all,  what  did  it  matter! 
No  harm  was  intended  and  none  had  been  done. 

"I  have  reflected,  Dimitri.  You  know  how 
things  go  at  the  Ministry.  If  a  friend  speaks,  they 
listen.  Otherwise  one  goes  into  the  first  empty 
pigeon-hole.  It  is  not  a  question  of  bishops  or 
knights  or  castles,  but  of  a  simple  pawn.  What 
difference  does  it  make  to  Coulomb  on  what 
square  he  stands?  Absolutely  none.  What  I  ask 
is  a  mere  trifle,  a  nothing  —  to  give  Tr6court  a 
crumb  in  Paris." 

"For  what  purpose,  Tatia?" 

150 


HELEN 


"O  Dimitri,  how  terribly  logical  you  are!  Let 
us  call  it  a  whim  —  do  you  like  that  word  better?  " 

He  slipped  the  ivory  paper-cutter  between  the 
leaves  of  his  book  and  closed  it  resignedly. 

Reaching  over  his  shoulder,  she  spread  the  vol 
ume  open  again  on  his  knee. 

" There!  dear  bookworm,  I  am  going.  And  if  I 
promise  to  reflect,  will  you  reflect  also?" 

Without  awaiting  his  answer,  she  stooped, 
brushed  his  hair  with  her  lips,  and  laughing  softly 
to  herself  went  into  her  dressing-room. 

Of  course  Dimitri  was  right  —  for  the  present. 
She  had  acted  hastily.  Her  letter  could  wait. 
Time  would  prove  that  she  was  right  also. 


XVI 

EVERY  table  at  Celestin's  was  occupied.  People 
were  standing,  plates  in  hand,  for  lack  of  chairs. 
The  room  was  redolent  of  perfume  and  pastry, 
and  the  lamps  had  been  lit  for  effect,  although  the 
afternoon  sun  streamed  in  under  the  arcade. 

"Is  not  your  name  Lee?*' 

The  question  was  addressed  to  a  boy  engaged 
in  the  demolition  of  a  small  mountain  of  little 
cakes.  He  paused  reluctantly  in  his  work  of  de 
struction,  partly  through  politeness  and  partly 
through  surprise,  to  admit  that  it  was. 

"And  is  not  that  your  sister  Helen  at  the 
counter?" 

Jack  admitted  this  also. 

He  had  been  assisting  Helen  in  the  selection  of 
her  purchases  for  the  the  intime,  and  was  taking 
advantage  of  the  delay  incident  to  getting  posses 
sion  of  them  to  demonstrate  to  his  own  satisfac 
tion  the  wisdom  of  his  choice. 

At  the  mention  of  her  name  Helen  turned  to 
meet  the  pale-blue  eyes  of  a  dainty  little  woman 
of  pink  and  white  complexion  and  yellow  hair 
very  faintly  suggestive  of  an  art  which  struggles 
rather  by  anticipation  than  necessity  against  the 
ravages  of  years.  She  came  directly  forward  with 
an  effusiveness  which  caused  Helen  to  draw  back 

152 


HELEN 


a  little,  but  which  was  proof  against  the  ordinary 
barriers  of  reserve. 

"How  very  fortunate!  I  heard  you  give  the 
address.  I  am  Mrs.  Stuart,  a  compatriot  of  yours. 
I  had  a  letter  from  my  husband  only  this  morning 
telling  me  you  were  here.  We  are  at  the  same 
hotel.  I  was  coming  to  congratulate  you.  I  am 
on  my  way  to  Egypt,  but  one  never  gets  away 
from  Paris  as  soon  as  one  expects,  does  one?  Are 
you  to  be  here  long?" 

"Not  very,"  said  Jack,  alert,  and  thoughtful  of 
Helen's  reserve.  "We  are  going  to  the  Bois  — 
grandma's  waiting  for  us  now." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  here,'1  said  Mrs.  Stuart 
with  a  silvery  laugh;  "I  meant  Paris.  So  your 
grandmother  is  with  you.  How  delightful!  I  met 
her  once  in  that  charming  villa  of  hers  near 
Mentone." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  mistaken,"  Helen  has 
tened  to  explain;  "Jack  means  Madame  de 
Chavigny." 

"Oh,  I  understand — your  mother's  mother. 
You  see  I  know  all  about  you."  What  Mrs.  Stuart 
did  not  know  in  the  matter  of  people  and  their 
connections  was  not  worth  knowing.  * '  I  used  to 
know  your  Uncle  Hector  in  New  York,  but  we 
have  given  up  New  York  for  London." 

"Did  you?"  said  Helen,  relenting. 

"Quite  well,  and  a  most  delightful  man  he  was. 
I  'm  sorry  to  use  the  past  tense,  but  it 's  very  nice 

153 


HELEN 


for  you."  Helen  froze  again.  "You  are  not  stay 
ing  with  Madame  de  Chavigny,  then." 

"No,  we  are  with  the  Princess  Ghica." 

"Indeed!  I  saw  the  Prince's  appointment  to 
the  Embassy  in  the  papers.  I  shall  run  in  at  once 
to  see  you.  Perhaps,  as  I  am  leaving  so  soon,  I 
can  manage  this  afternoon  if  you  are  to  be  at 
home." 

"Why,  yes,  certainly,  I  think  so."  She  was 
thinking  of  her  the  intime,  but  tried  to  be  cordial. 

True  to  her  promise,  Mrs.  Stuart  "ran  in"  at 
five  o'clock.  It  was  a  cardinal  article  in  her  creed 
never  to  miss  an  opportunity  to  enlarge  her  ac 
quaintance  list.  If  one  made  mistakes  one  could 
always  drop  people,  which  was  much  easier  than 
taking  them  on. 

Helen  had  gone  out  that  morning  with  the 
Princess  in  search  of  something  to  read.  At  the 
door  of  the  bookshop  in  the  Rue  du  Rivoli  Tatia 
had  cautioned  her  as  a  measure  of  prudence  to 
'get  something  in  English,'  and  she  had  returned 
with  a  volume  which  a  well-informed  clerk  assured 
her  was  '  a  very  brilliant  book  everybody  was 
reading.'  Tatia,  secure  in  her  belief  of  the  innocu- 
ousness  of  the  English  language,  dropped  her  at 
the  hotel  to  continue  on  her  own  business  —  the 
furnishing  of  the  new  apartment  in  the  Avenue 
Montaigne  —  and  Helen  had  devoted  the  morn 
ing  to  the  '  brilliant  book  everybody  was  reading/ 

It  differed  very  materially  from  those  which 

154 


HELEN 


adorned  the  shelves  in  the  Villa  Fontana,  or 
which  occupied  the  late  evening  hours  when  Mrs. 
Lee's  tired  eyes  laid  upon  Helen  the  duty  of  fin 
ishing  a  chapter.  From  prevailing  modern  stand 
points  her  education  had  been  lamentably  neg 
lected.  She  could  not  have  passed  the  entrance 
examinations  of  any  of  the  institutions  for  her 
sex  in  her  native  land,  and  at  the  age  when  their 
graduates,  clad  in  appropriate  attire,  were  pro 
nounced  ready  to  grapple  with  the  world,  she  was 
ignorant  of  the  formidable  vocabulary  of  the 
typical  curriculum.  On  the  other  hand,  she  and 
Jack  had  acquired  at  first  hand  that  indispensable 
accomplishment  of  language,  so  rare  in  the  land 
of  her  birth,  an  accomplishment  which  had  opened 
to  her  the  stores  of  information  on  the  Villa  Fon- 
tana's  bookshelves  and  the  avenues  of  conversa 
tion  in  its  polyglot  society.  The  rigid  exclusion 
from  the  former  of  frivolous  literature  had  limited 
her  range  of  vision,  and  Mrs.  Lee's  prudent  selec 
tion  of  the  sources  from  which  her  teachers  had 
drawn  her  'exercises'  had  no.t  opened  the  doors 
of  frivolity.  She  and  Jack  had  explored  the  upper 
shelves  of  the  bookcase,  only  to  find  the  relics  of 
their  grandmother's  pre-continental  life  gathering 
the  dust  beyond  the  reach  of  the  housemaid.  It 
was  due  to  these  stray  relics  that  Jack  had  stood 
on  the  bridge  with  Horatius,  sailed  the  wine- col 
ored  sea  with  Ulysses,  and  trembled  under  the 
counterpane  as  Helen  read  of  Roderick  Dhu's  com- 

155 


HELEN 


bat  with  Fitz- James  in  the  Scottish  Highlands. 
Most  of  the  "Household  Book  of  Poetry"  they 
knew  by  heart.  Even  an  encyclopaedia  of  the  early 
seventies  had  been  carefully  ransacked  for  possi 
ble  entertainment.  None  of  these  old-fashioned 
outlooks  upon  life  had  afforded  the  perspective 
of  the  'brilliant  book  everybody  was  reading.'  It 
possessed  a  style  and  facility  of  expression  foreign 
to  what  Mrs.  Lee  called  'standards/  and  it  dealt 
with  people  'rich  in  personality/  as  a  quotation 
from  a  critical  review  on  the  cover  observed.  The 
fluent  style  had  held  her  attention  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  liked  none  of  the  people.  It  must  be 
that  such  people  had  once  existed.  They  all  bore 
the  stamp  of  reality.  Reality  entitled  them  to  no 
hearing  in  either  life  or  literature,  but  the  brilliant 
style  carried  them  in  on  its  wave  where  life  would 
have  left  them  hopelessly  stranded.  So  she  read 
on,  revolted  at  all  their  sinuous  glidings,  their 
matings  and  mis-matings,  their  desperate  striv 
ings  for  bubbles,  through  the  merciless  analysis 
of  emotions  which  had  dropped  the  last  garments 
of  privacy,  solely  to  see  where  all  this  flutter  of 
talk  and  motive  would  end. 

Having  been  thus  driven  by  sheer  curiosity  to 
the  bitter  end,  she  fled  to  Jack  and  fresh  air  for 
moral  rehabilitation,  enlisting  him  in  the  raid  on 
Celestin's  for  something  worthy  of  her  tea.  It 
was  such  a  joy  to  be  able  to  carry  out  little  pro 
jects  of  this  kind  without  consulting  any  one,  to 

156 


HELEN 


treat  Jack!  Big  projects  she  had  none.  Uncle 
Hector's  money  was  literally  a  magic  carpet,  a 
fairy  wand.  She  had  risked  no  far  flights  as  yet 
on  the  carpet,  and  the  wand  she  handled  timidly, 
as  a  fairy  wand  ought  to  be  handled,  not  as  a 
sceptre.  It  was  Tatia  who  had  insisted  upon  the 
maid.  She  had  not  thought  of  it,  nor  of  the  sable 
furs.  But  she  accepted  both,  and  the  penny  tarts 
she  was  going  to  Celestin's  for,  with  equal  hospi 
tality  toward  a  world  which  Uncle  Hector's  gold 
had  changed  from  a  cold  unknown  to  an  inviting 
friend. 

At  Celestin's  the  bitter  taste  came  back  with 
Mrs.  Stuart.  Hitherto  her  experience  with  dis 
agreeable  people  had  been  confined  to  that  horrid 
Ambassador  with  the  thick  lips  and  scrutinizing 
eyes,  to  dapper  Monsieur  Hermite  and  the  queer 
visitors  with  Baedekers  who  peered  over  the  rail 
ing  at  the  Roman  road  and  cried,  'My!  think  of 
it ! '  They  had  repelled  or  bored  or  amused  her  in 
turn.  Mrs.  Stuart  made  her  uneasy,  and  while 
dressing  for  the  afternoon  she  took  refuge  with 
the  real  people  who  were  coming  to  tea. 

There  was  Dimitri.  She  was  fond  of  Dimitri. 
He  was  not  very  sociable,  but  he  never  put  her  on 
the  defensive.  One  trusted  Dimitri,  just  as  one 
trusted  all  the  inanimate  things  about  one  not  to 
misbehave.  He  was  never  trying,  like  the  men  in 
the  book,  to  bore  in  behind  one's  personality. 

And  Monsieur  de  Trecourt  —  how  utterly  ridic- 

157 


HELEN 


ulous  he  had  been  in  planning  that  dinner!  He  had 
almost  made  her  believe  everything  he  said.  Most 
of  the  people  in  the  brilliant  book  were  always 
doubtful  of  what  the  others  said.  There  was  no 
doubt  whatever  about  Monsieur  de  Trecourt.  He 
was  a  book  pleasant  to  read,  for  she  admitted 
that  she  liked  Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  while  de 
ploring  that  rash  abandonment  of  her  violets. 
One  could  pardon  any  one  who  was  so  naively  sin 
cere  in  his  enterprise.  The  men  in  the  book  were 
all  working  like  moles,  by  insidious  siege  ap 
proaches.  She  did  not  put  this  in  so  many  words, 
or  concede  half  as  much  as  the  episode  of  the 
violets  had.  But  if  the  limousine  had  to  be  taken, 
she  infinitely  preferred  to  have  it  taken  by  storm 
than  by  stealth.  It  was  simply  impossible  to  say 
4  no '  to  him !  —  that  is,  it  had  been  —  in  the 
future  — 

Then  there  was  Tatia,  as  frivolous  as  any  of 
them  —  but  oh,  so  much  more !  so  honest  and 
true!  She  was  sure  of  Tatia.  It  hurt  her  when 
any  one  called  Tatia  ugly.  To  be  sure,  if  one 
stopped  to  think,  she  was  —  well,  unusual,  not 
plain,  not  common  plainness,  but  the  kind  that 
guarantees.  Tatia  was  certainly  fond  of  trivial 
and  frivolous  things,  in  a  regal  sort  of  way,  as 
queens  wear  ermine.  They  were  not  the  end  and 
all  of  striving.  Did  Tatia  have  any  end,  except  to 
give  happiness?  She  very  much  doubted  it. 

And   Mr.  Fearing  —  how   dear  he  had  been 

158 


HELEN 


about  Jack!  In  the  distant  future  she  was  in 
tending  to  lean  upon  Jack,  when  he  had  grown  up 
to  be  a  man.  As  yet  his  overlordship  was  only  a 
figment,  and  meantime  she  had  leaned  upon  her 
grandmother,  as  one  leans  on  any  physical  sup 
port  devoid  of  human  sympathy.  Now  she  was 
free,  not  leaning  upon  any  one.  If  ever  it  should 
happen  to  her  to  really  need  any  one  to  depend 
upon,  it  would  be  Mr.  Fearing. 

She  came  at  last  to  Madame  de  Chavigny,  and 
the  blood  grew  hot  in  sheer  happiness  at  the  re 
membrance  of  her  soft  curls  and  encircling  arms. 

"You  were  not  a  bit  frightened,  were  you, 
grandmamma?  —  Peter  is  so  very  careful/*  said 
Helen,  hovering  over  the  tea-table. 

"No,  dear.  But  what  changes!"  Turning  to 
the  Princess,  "not  a  chair  on  the  Avenue!" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  n't  been, up 
the  Avenue  since  the  chairs  disappeared!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Stuart  in  astonishment.  "Fancy! 
Why,  I  have  to  go  up  the  Champs  Ely  sees  to  see 
my  friends." 

"Our  friends  reside  in  different  quarters,  per 
haps,"  said  the  old  lady  politely. 

"Oh,  no,"  averred  Mrs.  Stuart,  "  I  have  friends 
all  over." 

"You  are  very  fortunate." 

"You  think  so?"  she  smiled,  with  a  lift  of 
the  eyebrows  conveying  embarrassment  of  riches. 

159 


HELEN 


"When  one  adds  all  one's  own  to  one's  husband's, 
it's  almost  more  than  one  can  manage." 

Appalled  by  this  vista  into  Mrs.  Stuart's  two 
worlds,  Madame  de  Chavigny  reverted  to  the 
motor. 

"It  certainly  is  a  very  quick  way  of  getting 
about.  It  quite  took  my  breath  away." 

"We  shall  have  to  talk  that  matter  over  with 
Mr.  Fearing,"  said  the  Princess. 

"If  you  succeed  in  making  Mr.  Fearing  talk 
about  anything,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Stuart,  deter 
mined  not  to  be  left  out  of  the  conversation,  "you 
have  my  congratulations.  My  husband  wrote  me 
he  had  fairly  to  dig  the  news  out  of  him." 

"News,  what  news?"  enquired  the  Princess. 

"About  this  dear  child"  —  glancing  affection 
ately  at  Helen.  "Such  things  can't  be  kept  a 
secret  forever,  can  they?" 

"It's  rather  a  pity,  isn't  it? "said  Tatia  in 
scrutably. 

"Mr.  Fearing  seemed  to  think  so.  He's  much 
of  a  secret  himself,  so  like  a  machine  —  machines 
are  useful,  but  so  uncommunicative." 

The  Princess  laughed,  with  the  suspicious  frank 
ness  which  characterized  her  when  unduly  amused. 

The  door  opened  and  Monsieur  de  Trecourt 
came  in.  He  went  straight  to  Madame  de  Cha 
vigny,  kissing  her  on  both  cheeks,  bowed  to  the 
Princess  and  Helen,  and  sat  down  beside  Mrs. 
Stuart.  No  one  presented  him,  but  he  entered 

160 


HELEN  ' 


affably  into  conversation  with  that  lady  as  if  she, 
too,  belonged  there  and  such  a  formality  was  of 
no  importance.. 

"Give  Jean  a  cup  of  tea,  dear,"  said  Madame 
de  Chavigny,  laying  a  hand  on  Helen's  arm.  "  He 
is  too  timid  to  ask  for  it." 

On  the  far  side  of  the  circle  about  the  tea-table, 
very  discreet  and  quite  absorbed  in  his  compan 
ion,  he  did  not  suggest  in  the  remotest  degree  her 
vivacious  escort  of  the  limousine. 

"Why,  Alexis!"  cried  the  Princess,  rising  to 
greet  with  both  hands  a  tall,  thin  man  with  a  Van 
dyke  beard  who  came  in  with  Dimitri.  "What  a 
surprise!  My  cousin  Saranow  — " 

"Oh,  Madame  de  Chavigny  and  I  are  old 
friends,"  he  smiled,  lifting  the  extended  hand  to 
his  lips.  "We  have  plotted  together  these  many 
years  in  the  silence  of  the  Rue  du  Bac.  What 
magic  has  Tatiana  discovered  to  induce  you  to 
cross  the  Seine?  Ah,  yes,  I  understand"  —  fol 
lowing  her  eyes  to  Helen  —  "The  source  of  all 
our  follies  and  blessings.  Why,  mademoiselle, 
will  you  not  exert  a  little  of  your  power  on  my 
cousin?  I  have  offered  her  a  suite  in  the  Em 
bassy,  and  she  refuses." 

"What  I  refuse  you  know  very  well,  Alexis," 
said  the  Princess  pointedly. 

"What  is  it  I  know  so  well,  Tatia  dear?"  said 
her  cousin,  removing  his  gloves  deliberately. 
"Tell  us." 

161 


HELEN 


"To  surrender  my  liberty,  or  to  encroach  upon 
yours." 

He  nodded  gravely. 

Mrs.  Stuart,  out  of  touch  with  what  seemed  a 
family  gathering,  was  waiting  anxiously  for  some 
stray  end  of  conversation  to  rescue  her  from 
oblivion.  Happily,  she  caught  sight  of  the  bril 
liant  book  on  the  table. 

"Have  you  read  this  charming  book?"  she 
asked,  appropriating  the  Ambassador. 

"I  have  tried  to,"  said  Monsieur  Saranow, 
taking  up  the  book  and  examining  the  title. 

"Don't  you  read  English  easily?  You  cer 
tainly  speak  it  well.  It's  really  quite  wonderful 
how  you  foreigners  pick  up  languages." 

Monsieur  Saranow  smiled.  "You  have  hit 
upon  what  astonishes  me,  and  I  confess  bores  me 
in  this  book.  I  ask  myself  why  Americans  are  so 
interested  in  the  things  by  which  they  differ  from 


us." 


"Well,  we  are  different.  You  can't  help  seeing 
that." 

"Oh,  no,  madame.  I  admit  that  unreservedly. 
You  are  the  novelty  of  the  century." 

"Are  n't  you  interested  in  novelties?" 

"They  do  little  else  than  invent  them  for  you 
here  in  Paris.  It  is  one  of  the  resources  of  the 
budget." 

"I  think  the  way  he  —  or  is  it  she?  I've  for 
gotten  who  the  author  is  —  describes  the  differ- 

162 


HELEN 


ence  between  foreign  and  American  husbands,  and 
the  points  of  our  women  —  good  and  bad,  you 
know,  is  perfectly  killing." 

"It  must  be,"  said  Monsieur  Saranow  reflec 
tively,  "that  in  your  American  atmosphere  there 
is  something  that  tends  to  comparisons.  I  have 
observed  that  even  the  Academician  who  goes  to 
America  immediately  becomes  concerned  about 
himself." 

"Most  of  us  are;  that's  quite  natural." 

"With  this  difference,  that  we  began  here  in 
Europe  so  long  ago  to  take  note  of  ourselves  that 
we  have  become  quite  accustomed  to  ourselves 
and  to  each  other." 

"You  mean  you  are  perfectly  self-satisfied, 
then,"  she  hastened  to  say,  conscious  of  scoring  a 
point. 

"I  am  afraid  so.  It  is  very  stupid  of  us.  We 
are  an  old  race,  bordering  on  equilibrium,  that  is, 
restfulness  —  you  would  perhaps  say  ennui." 

"  Dear  me,  no!  Why,  I  came  to  Paris  to  escape 


ennui." 


"And  you  succeed  In  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  the 
Boulevards?"  enquired  Monsieur  Saranow  im 
passively. 

"That's  where  we  are  most  of  the  time,  to  be 
sure,  because  most  of  the  things  we  came  for  are 
there.  But  there  are  other  places,  the  Bois  and  — ' ' 

"The  museums,"  interjected  the  Princess,  fas 
cinated  by  the  thin,  silvery  voice  of  her  visitor. 

163 


HELEN 


Mrs.  Stuart  gave  the  intruder  a  grateful  wel 
come.  She  had  gotten  perilously  near  the  thin 
edge  of  her  theme  and  was  averse  to  conversa 
tional  eddies  which  diverted  her  from  the  main 
channel. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  say  the  museums,  Princess. 
Is  there  anything  particularly  new  in  them?  I 
leave  them  to  my  husband  mostly  —  he 's  an  ar 
tist,  and  more  interested  in  dilapidated  anatomies 
than  I  am.  I  must  say  I  prefer  all-round  perfec 
tion  —  both  arms,  and  faces  with  noses.  But  I 
really  must  be  going."  She  began  to  fasten  the 
furs  about  her  neck,  vaguely  conscious  of  a  chill 
in  the  atmosphere.  "  I  don't  suppose  any  of  you 
people  will  be  in  Egypt  this  winter.  I  've  taken 
a  dahabiyeh  and  should  be  delighted"  —  Her 
small  head  under  its  toque  turned  birdlike  to  the 
Ambassador. 

"Oh,  Madame,  we  are  so  proud  to  have  per 
suaded  the  Countess  to  cross  the  Seine  —  but 
Egypt!"  He  threw  up  his  hands  despairingly. 
"  Egypt  is  such  a  long  way  from  the  Rue  du  Bac! 
We  are  dull  people." 

"It's  only  sixty  hours.  If  you  are  dull  at  the 
Embassy,  Monsieur  Saranow,  why  don't  you  get 
a  bright  young  American  girl  to  pour  tea  for 
you?" 

It  was  not  uncommon  when  tea  was  served  in 
Mr.  Stuart's  studio  to  'talk  over'  departing  visi 
tors.  It  would  have  been  mortifying  to  Madge  to 

164 


HELEN 


know  that  with  her  departure  she  dropped  out  of 
the  conversation.  She  regretted  that  departure 
keenly  in  crossing  the  lobby,  where  she  found  her 
self  face  to  face  with  Fearing.  There  was  no  mis 
taking  her  pleasure  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"How  nice!   Jim  said  you  were  here." 

"He  said  I  was  coming,"  Fearing  corrected. 

"It's  all  the  same.  Why  have  n't  you  been  to 
see  me?" 

"Give  me  time  to  breathe.  I  am  just  off  the 
train." 

She  snuggled  her  muff  close  up  under  the  chin, 
shooting  over  it  an  informing  glance. 

"And  the  first  thought,  of  course,  is  the  new 
acquisition." 

"Acquisition?" 

"Oh,  you  need  n't  pretend.  Jim  wrote  me  all 
about  it.  I  won't  keep  you  now,  but  run  in  to 
night  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  I  'm  alone.  By  the 
way,  Jim  says  he  sold  Colombo.  He  said  you  told 
him  to." 

"Did  I?" 

"Good  Heavens!  He  said  you  did." 

"Well,  he  has,  if  I  told  him  to." 

She  called  back  to  him  at  the  door  of  the  lift: 
"Don't  forget  —  I  shall  expect  you." 


XVII 

IN  the  movement  incident  to  Mrs.  Stuart's  exit 
Monsieur  de  Tr6court  went  over  beside  Helen, 
pushing  his  empty  cup  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"What,  another!'1 

"If  you  please,  mademoiselle." 

He  began  to  speak  in  a  most  impersonal  way  — 
had  she  not  so  ordered?  —  passing  from  her  drive 
in  the  Bois  to  the  advantages  of  travel  and  other 
general  topics  with  a  subdued  vivacity  she  knew 
was  feigned.  Through  the  murmur  of  conversa 
tion  about  her  she  had  caught  stray  fragments  of 
his  talk  with  Mrs.  Stuart,  none  of  which  bore  the 
hall-marks  of  her  light-hearted  neighbor  of  the  pre 
vious  evening.  What  had  she  done?  What  had 
happened?  Or  was  he  simply  mercurial?  No  one 
else  appeared  to  notice  what  she  did,  and  she  put 
the  thought  aside. 

He  had  rambled  off  into  a  long  description  of  a 
new  device  for  aerial  photography  which  she  did 
not  in  the  least  comprehend.  The  technical  de 
scription  was  almost  an  affront.  She  tried  to  fol 
low  it  as  he  sketched  a  skeleton  design  with  cheese 
straws  and  teaspoons  on  the  tray-cloth.  She  felt 
herself  gradually  growing  hot  with  complete  in 
difference  for  aerial  photography  and  indignation 
at  herself  for  the  indifference.  Why  should  n't  she 

1 66 


HELEN 


be  interested  in  anything  so  wonderful !  Absorbed 
in  his  explanation,  he  was  paying  her  no  attention, 
while  the  spoons  and  straws  were  assuming  a  fear 
ful  complexity.  She  finally  gave  up  watching 
them,  to  watch  his  hands  —  very  slim  hands  with 
long,  tapering  fingers  and  pink  nails  —  nice  hands, 
she  thought.  Bending  over  his  task,  a  fringe  of 
brown  hair  got  in  the  line  of  her  vision.  It  did  not 
matter.  She  had  lost  all  understanding  long  since. 

"How  do  you  feel  when  you  are  flying,  Mon 
sieur  de  Tr6court?" 

"When  I  am  flying,  mademoiselle?"  His  voice 
had  the  old  thrill  in  it.  "  It  cannot  be  described. 
It  is  too  wonderful.  One  wishes  never  to  come 
down,  to  stay  up  there  forever.  Then,  you  ob 
serve,  by  pressing  this  lever — " 

Her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  She  could  bear 
it  no  longer.  "What  is  troubling  you,  Monsieur 
deTrecourt?" 

"Helene,"  called  Madame  de  Chavigny,  tap 
ping  on  the  table  with  her  cane,  "you  and  Jack 
are  to  take  me  home.  What  castles  are  you  build 
ing  over  there?" 

"I  never  can  learn  to  call  her  Helene,"  put  in 
Jack  opportunely. 

"You  need  not  try  to,  dear.  She  shall  keep  a 
name  for  each  country." 

Helen  was  already  tying  the  ribbons  of  the 
heavy  manteau  which  Mrs.  Stuart  had  pro 
nounced  a  model  of  the  last  century. 

167 


HELEN 


"Do  you  come  with  us,  Jean?"  said  the  old 
lady.  " Is  there  room  for  him?" 

"Plenty,"  said  Jack.    "I  can  sit  with  Peter." 

"Tatia,"  said  Dimitri  when  they  had  gone, 
"show  Alexis  your  letter  to  Coulomb." 

"Why?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 

He  nodded  in  Alexis's  direction.  "You  told  me 
to  reflect,  and  I  have  reflected." 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  that,"  she  said  soberly. 

She  went  to  the  writing-desk,  unearthing  the 
letter  from  a  mass  of  papers  in  her  portfolio. 

"What  is  this  letter? "  asked  Alexis.  "A  letter 
to  Coulomb?  Show  it  to  me." 

He  read  it  through  carefully,  twisted  it  over 
between  his  fingers,  then  read  it  again,  the  skin 
wrinkling  over  the  straight  grey  eyebrows  on  the 
high  forehead. 

"  I  do  not  ask  why  you  write  this  letter,  cousin, 
—  inasmuch  as  you  do  not  take  Monsieur  Cou 
lomb  into  your  confidence.  But  it  is  inadmis 
sible." 

The  Princess  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You  have  your  sympathies.  I  have  my  scru 
ples.  You  will  not  live  with  me.  Very  well.  But 
you  belong  to  my  official  household,  and  we  do 
not  meddle  with  the  domestic  affairs  of  France  — 
on  paper.  Talk  to  Coulomb,  Tatiana,"  he  said, 
handing  her  the  letter  with  his  fine  smile,  "dis 
creetly." 

168 


HELEN 


Tatia  offered  no  reply.  She  knew  that  when  her 
cousin  closed  a  door  there  was  no  opening  it.  He 
always  closed  it  with  courtesy,  and  an  equally 
flawless  finality.  The  smile  irritated  her  more 
than  the  refusal.  Tall,  gaunt,  impeccably  dressed, 
he  was  the  modern  counterpart  of  the  mediaeval 
knight  in  chain  armor.  She  left  him  abruptly 
with  Dimitri  and  went  to  her  own  room. 

Some  one  was  moving  about  in  the  adjoining 
one  —  Helen's.  She  listened  intently  for  a  mo 
ment  till  satisfied  that  it  was  not  the  maid,  then 
threw  open  the  door. 

"You  did  n't  go  with  your  grandmother?" 

"No,  Monsieur  de  Tr6court  did." 

"Oh!"  flinging  herself  into  a  chair,  her  percep 
tions  on  edge.  "The  apartment  will  be  ready 
next  Monday,"  she  said,  resorting  to  the  cigarette 
case. 

"That  will  be  nice." 

"Very.   Alexis  has  engaged  a  chef  for  us." 

"I  thought  ambassadors  were  above  such 
things." 

"Not  Alexis.  Next  to  the  Ambassador  the  chef 
is  the  most  important  member  of  the  staff." 

"Is  he?" 

The  Princess  watched  her  through  the  curling 
smoke. 

"Helen,  you  are  beginning  to  miss  Jack." 

"  I  think  that  must  be  it." 

"It  I  what 'sit?" 

169 


HELEN 


"You  know  Jack  and  I  — "  She  stopped.  The 
long  vista  of  electric  lights  in  the  Avenue  flared 
up  as  by  magic,  and  at  the  same  instant  came 
another  illumination.  She  dropped  the  curtain, 
shutting  both  from  sight. 

"That's  one  thing  you  have  n't  got  to  worry 
about,  my  dear.  When  Fearing  takes  hold  of  any 
thing—  " 

"  I  am  not  worrying.  I  could  not  ask  more  for 
Jack." 

The  Princess  turned  the  tiny  watch  on  her 
wrist  face  upward. 

"Suppose  we  dine  upstairs  to-night."  ("I 
thought  so!"  she  said  to  herself.)  "I'll  give  the 
order  now." 

Alexis  had  gone  when  she  reentered  the  drawing 
room.  She  was  decidedly  upset.  She  was  as 
nearly  vexed  as  was  possible  with  Dimitri  for 
asking  her  to  show  her  letter  to  Alexis.  She  was 
thoroughly  vexed  with  Alexis  for  his  reception  of 
it,  and  she  was  still  more  vexed  with  herself  for 
her  rash  promise  to  Trecourt. 

"You  are  trying  not  to  say,  'You  see  I  was 
right,'"  she  said  to  Dimitri,  "but  you  look  it.  I 
ought  to  have  posted  that  letter  without  consult 
ing  either  of  you." 

"That  would  have  been  another  mistake,  Ta- 
tia." 

In  the  brief  ensuing  silence  Tatia  jumped  a  wide 
chasm.  "  I  am  perfectly  sure  she  cares  for  him." 

170 


HELEN 


"And  Trecourt —  he  also  has  the  passion,  I 
suppose,"  said  Dimitri  good-naturedly. 

"A  mole  could  see  that." 

Not  expecting  so  corroborative  a  reply,  Dimi 
tri  was  silent. 

"We  are  not  all  tortoises,"  she  went  on  irri 
tably.  "You  must  n't  judge  Helen  from  yourself. 
Think  of  H61ene.  You  really  know  very  little 
about  women,  Dimitri." 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  Till  now  he 
certainly  thought  he  knew  Tatia. 

"We  both  agree  about  Helen  at  least,"  he  said 
pleasantly.  "She's  the  salt  of  the  earth." 

"  Yes ;  that 's  the  trouble.  We  are  going  to  dine 
here  to-night." 

She  went  to  the  electric  bell.  While  listening 
to  the  dinner  order,  he  endeavored  to  solve  the 
enigma  of  Tatia' s  answer. 


XVIII 

FEARING  stood  inside  the  door  of  his  room  for  a 
moment  before  pressing  the  electric  button.  He 
was  annoyed  at  Stuart  for  his  indiscretions,  what 
ever  they  were,  and  he  was  angry  with  himself  for 
giving  any  ground  for  them.  Both  Stuart  and  his 
wife  had  received  him  with  a  cordiality  they  had 
never  accorded  him  before.  He  knew  well  enough 
to  what  this  increase  of  importance  was  due.  It 
was  a  species  of  flattery  which  had  not  yet  ceased 
to  amuse  him  — -  the  accolade  of  wealth. 

When  the  light  came  in  answer  to  his  pressure 
he  saw  his  luggage  had  already  been  put  in  place 
and  that  the  post  was  on  the  table.  Conspicuous 
among  the  letters  was  a  long,  thick  envelope 
which  he  recognized  at  once  —  the  syndicate  plan 
for  the  Argentine  loan.  The  temptation  to  make 
it  serve  as  an  excuse  for  not  accepting  Madge's 
invitation  came  instantly,  and  he  sat  down  and 
began  a  note.  Halfway  down  the  page  he  stopped, 
tore  the  sheet  in  two,  and  dropped  it  in  the  wicker 
basket  beneath  the  desk.  That  would  be  running 
away  simply  because  running  away  was  the  less 
disagreeable  alternative. 

While  dressing  for  dinner  a  note  came  from 
Mrs.  Stuart  saying  she  had  forgotten  —  friends 
were  coming  to  take  her  to  the  theatre  —  people 

172 


HELEN 


she  thought  he  knew  —  the  names  followed.  Per 
haps  he  would  drop  in  for  supper  afterwards  in 
the  restaurant.  He  felt  relieved,  which  annoyed 
him  the  more.  Why  on  earth  should  he  be  averse 
to  facing  that  fussy  little  woman !  Better  to  put  a 
stop  to  her  activities  while  she  was  harmless,  and 
have  it  over  at  once. 

He  found  her  in  the  crowded  lounge,  awaiting 
her  friends. 

"  It  was  awfully  stupid  of  me,"  she  said.  "  I  com 
pletely  forgot.  Luckily  my  maid  has  a  memory. 
I  'm  a  guest,  else  I  should  insist  on  carrying  you 
off.  Do  sit  down  just  a  moment.  I'm  dying  to 
hear  the  New  York  news.  What  brought  you 
over?  The  Chavigny  affair,  I  suppose." 

"Do  you  call  death  an  'affair'  over  here?" 

"Poor  Chavigny!"  She  smiled  up  at  him  be 
nevolently.  "Who  ever  thought  of  his  leaving 
such  a  lot  of  money!  He  did,  did  n't  he?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Fearing,  edging  a  little  out 
of  the  swaying  crowd. 

"Do  sit  down;  you'll  be  swept  away  if  you 
don't.  Believe  so!  Jim  says  you  are  his  exec 
utor." 

"  I  am,  but  I  did  n't  know  you  had  an  interest 
in  his  estate." 

"Don't  be  horrid.  One  is  always  interested  in 
romances.  You  know  I  saw  the  Lee  children  in 
Mentone  at  their  grandmother's  when  they  were 
tots  without  a  penny.  You  must  concede  there 's 

173 


HELEN 


something  romantic  when  the  fabled  rich  uncle 
turns  up  in  real  life." 

"I  had  n't  thought  of  it  in  that  light.  Money 
usually  goes  to  the  next  of  kin." 

"How  prosaic  you  are!  You  know  I  had  n't 
seen  them  since  that  time  in  Men  tone —  till  to 
day.  We  met  by  accident  at  C£lestin's.  The 
boy's  a  dear.  I  recognized  the  girl  from  her  re 
semblance  to  her  mother — but  she 's  not  as  pretty. 
What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

" I  like  her  immensely  —  don't  you?" 

The  admission  was  too  candid  and  all-embra 
cing  to  be  enlightening. 

"She's  no  French  toy.  She's  got  a  will  of  her 
own  —  I  could  see  that." 

"A  good  thing  to  have."  Fearing's  eyes  wan 
dered  off  over  the  throng  gathering  for  dinner,  a 
confused  medley  of  bare  shoulders,  jewels,  and 
feathers.  "Jim  says  you  are  on  the  way  to 
Egypt." 

"Oh,  come !  You  can't  put  me  off  like  that.  Be 
good,  now,  and  gratify  legitimate  curiosity.  I 
want  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  your 
pretty  ward." 

"Bless  me!"  he  laughed;  "she's  not  my  ward. 
She's  of  age." 

"She  does  n't  look  it." 

"  That 's  another  point  in  her  favor,"  said  Fear 
ing,  rescuing  her  handkerchief  from  under  the 
passing  feet. 

174 


HELEN 


"Thanks.  She  asked  me  to  tea  this  afternoon 
at  the  Princess  Ghica's.  The  old  Countess  was 
there  —  wonderfully  preserved  old  lady  —  the 
Ambassador,  and  a  young  man  who  bored  me  to 
death.  Then  she's  not  going  to  America  with  her 
brother?  I  thought  from  what  Jim  said  — " 

Fearing  drew  a  long  sigh  and  stood  up.  "Jim 
has  the  artist's  imagination.  You  must  n't  let 
him  make  it  too  hard  for  me  to  be  polite." 

Her  eyes  blazed.  "You  never  were  less  so  in 
your  life,"  she  flung  at  him,  struggling  with  her 
wrath. 

He  laughed  now  in  earnest.  "  I  will  make  any 
amends  you  impose  except  inventing  out  of  my 
ignorance.  I  am  off  for  home  two  weeks  from  to 
day.  While  you  are  basking  in  the  Nile  sun  you 
can  think  of  me,  if  you  choose  to  think  of  me  at 
all,  as  sitting  at  a  desk  in  Broad  Street  envying  — 
no,  I  won't  say  that  —  congratulating  people  who 
can  go  and  do  —  where  and  what  they  please." 

"That's  precisely  what  you  do  yourself  —  no 
one  more  so." 

"Yes,  to  a  degree.    Here  come  your  friends." 

To  a  degree!  Indignation  prevented  her  from 
finding  just  the  right  retort  and  the  approach  of 
her  friends  left  her  no  time  to  search  for  it.  He 
was  plainly  bored.  The  consciousness  that  he  was 
fooling  her  completed  her  discomfiture.  Two  can 
play  at  that  game,  David  Fearing!  she  thought 
—  and  forced  a  parting  smile. 

175 


HELEN 


He  noticed  that  she  did  not  renew  her  invita 
tion  to  supper. 

He  sent  his  card  up  the  next  morning  to  the 
Princess  Ghica,  and  word  came  down  that  Miss 
Lee  would  be  glad  to  see  him.  She  was  at  the 
breakfast  table  when  he  came  in. 

"Tatia's  not  visible  yet,"  she  explained,  giving 
him  her  hand.  "Jack  and  I  keep  to  our  old  hab 
its.  I  am  glad  you  are  here.  I  wanted  very  much 
to  see  you." 

He  thought  he  noticed  a  change  in  her.  What 
it  was  exactly  he  could  not  tell  —  nothing  out 
ward,  like  dress,  certainly.  Galatea  was  all  he 
could  think  of. 

"  It  seems  such  a  long  time  since  I  left  you 
at  the  villa  gate  —  the  last  time.  Did  you  think 
I  was  very  mercenary?" 

"No.  You  were  quite  within  your  rights.  I 
suppose  you  want  to  know  now  definitely  what 
they  are." 

The  old  directness  did  not  escape  her.  It  was 
what  she  wanted. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  want  to  know  exactly  where  I 
stand  before  I  take  another  step.  You  may  dis 
appear  to-morrow  as  you  did  at  Nice,  and  then 
I  should  be  in  despair." 

"  I  am  never  beyond  the  reach  of  a  cable,  and 
I  am  here  now  to  answer  all  your  questions.  Per 
haps  I  have  anticipated  some  of  them  in  a  memo 
randum  I  wrote  out  last  night." 

176 


HELEN 


Something  like  mirth  in  her  eyes  made  him 
stop.  He  was  so  dreadfully  methodical ! 

"Won't  you  tell  me  first,  please,  about  Uncle 
Hector?"  ' 

"  I  wish  I  could.  I  knew  him  so  slightly  that  I 
don't  understand  why  he  should  have  singled 
me  out  as  he  did  —  except  that  people  who  carry 
burdens  are  always  singled  out  for  more." 

She  was  tempted  to  say  that  she  knew  why. 
"Then  it  is  a  burden." 

"It's  a  responsibility,  certainly." 

"You  mean  the  money  —  not  me." 

" I'll  try  to  distinguish  between  the  two,  if  I 
can." 

Her  face  lighted.  "But  I  don't  wish  you  to! 
You  are  the  first  and  only  friend  I  ever  had  — 
whom  I  can  go  to  for  advice,  I  mean.  You  don't 
mind  giving  advice,  do  you?" 

"Not  when  it  is  taken." 

"  I  promise  to  listen,  and  I  think  I  shall  take  it. 
You  know  I  have  trusted  you  already  with  Jack." 

She  drew  her  chair  closer,  cleared  a  space  on  the 
table  and  spread  the  memorandum  on  the  cloth. 

"That's  my  New  York  address,"  he  said,  in 
dicating  the  first  line  with  the  butter-knife.  ' 

"  I  want  the  cable  address,  too,"  she  said,  look 
ing  up  quickly. 

"  I  hope  there'll  be  no  occasion  for  that.  How 
ever  —  "  He  wrote  it  in  between  line  one  and  line 
two. 

177 


HELEN 


"I  might,"  she  said,  watching  him. 

"Then  this  is  the  address  of  my  Paris  bankers 
—  Murray  Brothers  —  I  shall  see  them  to-day 
and  have  them  send  you  a  check-book.  You  know 
how  to  make  out  a  check?" 

"  I  saw  you  make  one  out  once.  Have  you  for 
gotten?" 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  he  said  hastily. 

"  I  did  n't  know  when  I  refused  to  give  you 
that  louis  that  we  were  going  to  transact  business 
together." 

"/did." 

"  I  know  you  did,  and  you  walked  off  with  Jack 
as  if  we  were  never  to  meet  again.  Go  on,  please, 
I  am  interrupting." 

"  I  have  said  here"  —  pointing  to  line  three  — 
"  I  should  leave  a  deposit  for  your  account  with 
Murray  Brothers  before  I  go,  and  later  on,  be 
ginning  April  first,  and  every  quarter-day  there 
after— " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  quarter-day,  Mr. 
Fearing?" 

He  looked  at  her  to  see  if  she  was  serious,  and 
while  somewhat  in  doubt  concluded  she  was. 

"  Imean  every  three  months,  every  quarter  of 
a  year,  the  first  days  of  January,  April,  July,  and 
October,  I  shall  deposit  your  income  to  date  with 
them,  subject  to  your  draft  —  and  send  you  a 
statement  in  full.  You  understand?" 

She  nodded. 

178 


HELEN 


"There's  a  personal  letter  of  introduction  in 
that  envelope  to  Mr.  Murray.  You  can  present 
it  at  your  leisure,  or,  what  will  be  better,  I  will 
take  you  there  some  day  myself.  Murray  is  a 
Scotch  gentleman  who  will  be  glad  to  be  of  any 
service.  You  can  place  implicit  reliance  in  him." 

"What  about  the  next  line?"  said  Helen,  point 
ing  to  the  blank  space  below.  "You  have  n't  said 
yet  what  you  are  going  to  deposit  on  those  quarter- 
days." 

"I  can't  do  that  at  present.  Furthermore,  all 
quarter-days  are  not  alike." 

"But  is  n't  that  the  most  important  thing  for 
me  to  know?" 

"Undoubtedly.  I  can  tell  you  approximately 
what  your  yearly  income  is  likely  to  be — not  more, 
to  be  on  the  safe  side,  than  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

The  smile  went  out  of  her  eyes.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  staring  at  him  incredulously. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  shall  have  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  all  my  own  every  year?  " 

"Yes,  about  that,  more  or  less  —  more  prob 
ably." 

The  tears  started  in  her  eyes.  "And  I  had  n't 
even  that  louis  I  wanted  to  give  you." 

"  No,  Jack  told  me  he  doubted  whether  you  had 
one.  I  have  a  proposition  to  make  about  Jack," 
he  added,  steering  away  from  the  threatening 
tears;  "I  have  a  fortnight  before  sailing  and  I 
thought  of  running  off  somewhere  with  the  motor. 

179 


HELEN 


I  may  not  have  another  chance  soon.  If  you  could 
spare  Jack,  I  could  take  him  with  me.  We  could 
be  getting  better  acquainted.  You  can  think  it 


over." 


"I  don't  need  to." 

"There's  another  thing  that  occurred  to  me," 
he  went  on  hurriedly.  "  If  you  want  to  keep  Peter 
—  he 's  a  careful  driver  and  won't  run  you  up  a 
lot  of  bills—  " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  gesture  and  went  to  the 
window. 

"  I  will  speak  to  Peter  about  it  if  you  say  so," 
he  said  to  her  back. 

Helen  turned.  "  I'm  not  used  to  so  much  kind 
ness  — "  She  was  too  self-contained  to  give  way 
utterly,  but  the  voice  broke  and  she  turned  back 
again. 

The  clock  with  the  three  Horatii  on  the  mantel 
ticked  off  the  silence.  The  suffering  was  not  all 
on  one  side. 

"Well,"  he  said,  rising,  "that's  all,  I  think." 

"No,  it's  not  all,"  she  cried,  facing  him,  "it's 
only  the  beginning  — " 

The  door  opened  to  the  Princess  Ghica.  '  *  What ! 
back  again!"  Her  glance  took  in  the  memoran 
dum  on  the  table,  "and  talking  business!" 

"Yes,"  said  Fearing,  "it's  all  settled." 

The  Princess  turned  to  Helen.   She  was  gone. 

Sprawling  on  the  rug  that  evening,  Jack  was 
180 


HELEN 


studying  a  large  motor  map  while  Helen  was 
taking  down  her  hair. 

"We  are  going  to  Chartres  first  —  that's  only 
thirty-seven  kilometres  —  because  there 's  a  ca 
thedral  there — "  his  finger  followed  down  the 
map  —  "then  to  Blois  —  that's  where  that  old 
Guise  was  murdered  —  you  remember  that  in  our 
history,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  Jack." 

"And  then  — "  He  broke  away  from  the  map 
suddenly  to  follow  the  brush  sliding  back  and 
down  along  the  shining  hair.  "Don't  you  wish 
you  were  going  with  us!" 

"  It  would  be  rather  nice." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  Mr.  Fearing,  Helen?" 

"Oh,  I  think  you  will  have  a  much  better  time 
by  yourselves." 

"  I  suppose  we'd  have  to  have  a  chaperon,  and 
that  would  spoil  it.  But  it  would  be  fun  to  have 
you  —  you  are  the  only  girl  I'd  ask — "  this 
majestically. 

"Your  acquaintance  list  is  n't  large  enough  to 
make  that  much  of  a  compliment,  Jack." 

"I  mean  it,  anyway.  I  hate  most  girls.  When 
I  grow  up  I  'd  marry  you  if  it  were  legal." 

Helen  laughed.  "  I  hope  you  won't  make  your 
offer  from  the  floor  on  your  stomach.  That  would 
be  impolite  as  well  as  illegal." 

"I  would  n't  make  it  on  my  knees.  I'd  carry 
you  off  like  Lochinvar." 

181 


HELEN 


"Jack,  you  are  ridiculous.'* 

"  I  'm  always  ridiculous  or  horrid  or  something 
like  that,"  he  retorted.  "You  don't  want  this 
Temps  do  you?" 

Helen  glanced  over  her  shoulder.    "No,  dear." 

Jack  began  feeding  the  Temps  to  the  fire. 
"Hullo!"  he  cried,  scanning  the  last  remaining 
page,  "listen  to  this:  'Monsieur  Jean  de  Trecourt 
is  named  Attache  to  the  Legation  at  Seoul.' " 

"Ah,  that  was  the  reason!" 

Jack  sat  up.    "Reason  for  what?" 

"Nothing." 

Jack  yawned.  "Well,  I  suppose  I've  got  to  go 
to  bed.  We  are  going  to  start  at  eight.  We  are 
going  to  leave  the  limousine  for  you.  Mr.  Fear- 
ing's  hired  an  open  car.  I  hope  it  won't  rain." 

He  put  his  arms  round  her  neck  from  behind 
and  buried  his  face  in  the  flowing  hair. 

"You  smell  awfully  good,  Helen.  And  I  meant 
what  I  said  —  about  marrying  you." 

"Please,  Jack,  you  are  pulling  my  hair." 

He  bent  her  head  back  and  kissed  her  on  the 
lips.  "That's  for  calling  me  names,"  he  laughed, 
"and"  —  repeating  the  operation  —  "that's  for 
good-night." 

When  he  had  gone  she  picked  up  the  mutilated 
sheet  of  the  Temps  Jack  had  left  on  the  rug. 


XIX 

SITTING  beside  his  godmother  on  the  way  to  the 
Rue  du  Bac  Jean  de  Trecourt  was  quite  another 
person  from  the  young  man  whose  eloquence  had 
once  won  him  a  place  in  Fearing's  limousine.  He 
had  received  from  the  Foreign  Office  that  morning 
his  assignment  to  Corea,  an  announcement  which 
plunged  him  in  despair.  A  few  days  before  he 
would  have  been  enchanted  at  the  prospect  of 
testing  in  person  the  mystery  and  glamour  of  the 
East.  The  thought  of  exchanging  Avrincourt  for 
Seoul  would  have  set  his  heart  beating  and  his 
imagination  on  fire.  Just  at  present  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  find  more  than  monosyllables  in  answer 
to  Madame  de  Chavigny's  flow  of  spirits.  He  had 
not  yet  summoned  the  courage  to  inform  her  of 
the  designs  of  the  Foreign  Office,  and  high  spirits 
seemed  singularly  out  of  place.  It  was  certainly 
trying  to  listen  to  her  praises  of  her  granddaugh 
ter,  whose  presence  at  that  very  moment  was 
haunting  the  spot  where  he  was  sitting.  For 
Monsieur  de  Trecourt  was  in  that  unreasonable 
frame  of  mind  which  has  earned  for  lovers  the 
reputation  of  blindness.  Of  all  the  conversation 
at  his  godmother's  dinner  he  could  remember 
only  the  severity  with  which  it  ended,  and  being 
like  all  lovers  keenly  sensitive  to  rebuke,  was 

183 


HELEN 


depressed  beyond  even  the  power  of  the  antidote 
in  his  breast  pocket  to  relieve  despondency.  Ap 
plying  what  he  conscientiously  prided  himself  was 
the  cold  logic  of  reason  to  his  affairs,  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  were  hopeless.  Was  it 
reasonable  to  suppose,  simply  because  he  had 
been  carried  away  by  so  much  loveliness,  that  she 
—  evidently  not!  His  past  assurance  was  pitiful. 
His  presumption  had  only  amused  her.  All  this 
was  a  dream,  not  even  a  hope.  Until  the  axe  of 
the  Foreign  Office  fell  that  morning  with  such 
amazing  celerity  the  interest  of  the  Princess 
Ghica  had  given  him  courage.  That  rainbow  of 
promise  had  disappeared.  Had  he  been  so  simple 
as  to  imagine  that  the  Princess  had  nothing  but 
Monsieur  de  Trecourt  to  think  of !  However  sin 
cere  she  might  have  been,  it  was  now  too  late. 

Gradually,  out  of  his  despair,  rose  that  bitter 
pleasure  of  bruising  his  wound,  of  asserting  him 
self  superior  to  pain  by  ministering  to  it.  Clad 
in  this  armor  of  superiority,  he  had  kept  his 
appointment  for  tea  at  the  Princess  Ghica' s.  If 
opportunity  presented  he  would  mention  to  her, 
casually,  that  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  be 
ordered  to  the  East.  He  was  tired  of  the  banal- 
it6s  of  the  Boulevards.  Travel  had  always  been 
his  great  desire. 

As  for  what  he  would  say  to  mademoiselle  — 
here  his  intentions  became  somewhat  blurred. 
Not  that  he  had  anything  to  dissemble.  Having 

184 


HELEN 


recovered  possession  of  himself  he  had  nothing  to 
fear. 

On  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Stuart  he  had  gone 
over,  as  the  merest  politeness  required,  to  ex 
change  a  few  words  at  the  tea-table  before  taking 
his  leave.  Fortunately  the  inspiration  came  to 
him  that  aerial  photography  was  an  appropriate 
topic.  At  one  moment,  when  asked  what  were 
the  sensations  of  flight,  he  almost  forgot  that  he 
had  renounced  forever  leaving  the  solid  earth  for 
any  flight  whatever,  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  his 
technical  description,  she  had  lowered  her  voice 
and  eyes  to  utter  those  divine  words  — 

"Oh,"  he  groaned,  "why  must  you  choose  that 
instant  to  go!" 

"What  are  you  saying?"  asked  his  godmother. 
"It  is  quite  impossible  in  these  motors  to  make 
one's  self  heard." 

"Yes,  he  is  changing  gears.  But  I  think  we  are 
here." 

It  was  his  habit  when  in  Paris  to  make  his  home 
with  his  godmother.  He  fared  very  badly  that 
evening  in  the  game  which  always  followed  din 
ner.  Corea  stared  at  him  from  every  domino. 
But  he  said  nothing.  In  his  present  state  of  mind 
it  would  have  been  impossible  either  to  feign  en 
thusiasm  or  disguise  despair. 

When  leaving  for  Avrincourt  in  the  morning, 
however,  he  said  to  Jacques:  "Say  to  madame 
that  I  omitted  to  tell  her  that  I  am  about  to  go  to 

185 


HELEN 


Corea — "  And  Jacques  bowed,  smiling,  having 
the  idea  that  Corea  was  some  place  or  person  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood. 

Under  the  archway,  between  the  dealer  in  an 
tiquities  and  the  purveyor  of  delicatessen,  still 
brooding  over  his  unhappy  destiny,  Jean  stopped 
short,  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  A  limousine  was 
just  drawing  up  to  the  curb. 

To  retreat  was  to  enter  a  cul-de-sac,  to  be 
caught  on  the  landing  before  Jacques  could  open 
the  door.  Should  he  acknowledge  the  perfidious 
smile  he  foresaw  on  the  face  of  the  occupant  of 
the  limousine  and  assist  her  with  polite  indiffer 
ence  to  alight,  or  pass  bravely  on  with  a  feigned 
absorption  in  his  own  affairs?  The  dilemma  did 
not  present  itself.  There  was  no  smile  of  any 
kind  on  the  face  of  the  person  for  whom  Peter 
was  opening  the  door.  She  remained  obstinately 
seated,  awaiting  his  coming.  Nor  could  he  affect 
indifference  to  the  objective  world  when  that 
person  was  saying:  — 

"Come  here,  please,  Monsieur  de  Trecourt. 
I  wish  to  speak  with  you.  In  what  direction  are 
you  going?" 

"To  Avrincourt  —  the  Lyons  station, "  he 
stammered. 

Peter  stood  at  the  door. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Peter.  There  are  many 
trains  to  Avrincourt,  are  there  not?" 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,  many." 
186 


HELEN 


"Then  grandmamma  can  wait.  We  will  go 
first  to  the  Bois,  Peter.  You  agree,  monsieur?" 

"  Oh,  mademoiselle/'  he  murmured. 

Not  till  they  came  out  from  the  narrow  street 
was  a  word  spoken. 

"Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  why  did  you  not  tell 
me  yesterday  of  your  appointment?" 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,"  he  burst  forth,  "can  you 
not  see  that  I  am  miserable,  that  I  — " 

"Hush!  I  know  what  you  are  about  to  say. 
Reproach  me  if  you  will  for  what  I  have  done,  but 
not  for  what  I  am  doing." 

' '  Reproach  you !  I ,  who  from  the  first  moment — ' ' 

"Stop,  please  —  every  word  you  speak  is  a 
reproach.  I  have  done  wrong  —  I  should  not 
have  permitted" —  She  turned  her  face  to  the 
window,  her  lip  quivering  —  "you  seemed  to  me 
so  frank,  so  ingenuous  — " 

"So  boyish!"  he  said  bitterly;  "I  remember." 

"  Is  that  a  fault?  "  she  said,  turning  to  him.  "  I 
did  not  mean  it  so."  The  candor  of  her  eyes 
shielded  her.  "Listen  to  me,  please.  Yesterday 
you  hurt  me  —  you  have  the  power  to  hurt  me  — 
I  confess  it.  Why  should  you  not  have  told  me 
that  you  were  going  to  — " 

O  misguided  youth!  that  he  should  say,  "Be 
cause  that  was  nothing  to  you." 

"That  may  be  true.  Did  you  expect  me  to 
believe  that  it  was  nothing  to  you?" 

"It  seems  I  am  an  open  book." 


HELEN 


"No,  Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  you  are  not  an 
open  book;  but  last  night,  when  I  saw  in  the 
Temps  your  appointment,  I  also  saw  how  thought 
less  I  had  been  — " 

"And  you  pitied  me!" 

" —  and  I  asked  myself  which  is  most  loyal,  to 
make  believe  that  I  saw  nothing,  to  let  you  go 
away  thinking  ill  of  me,  or  to  come  to  you  frankly 
and  say,  forgive  me  —  give  me  back  my  violets, 
Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  and  let  us  start  anew." 

"To  begin  anew  I  must  stop  loving  you." 

Above  the  muff  on  her  knees  lay  a  little  hand. 
But  he  did  not  dream  of  taking  it.  His  audacity 
was  of  another  and  more  compelling  kind. 

"Can  we  not  go  back  to  —  where  you  cease 
telling  me  so?  It  was  because  I  thought  you  were 
not  a  boy  that  I  dared  speak  to  you.  You  ask  of 
me  —  everything  —  shall  I  ask  nothing  of  you? 
Not  to  go  away  hurt  and  despising  me  —  not  to 
treat  me  as  if  I  were  without  feeling  or  compre 
hension  —  not  to  reject  what  I  offer  you  —  to  be 
your  friend.  Is  that  nothing  to  you?" 

There  are  those  who  in  Monsieur  de  Tr6court's 
place  would  have  spurned  so  paltry  an  offer  — 
perhaps,  also,  would  have  seized  the  little  hand 
on  the  muff  and,  risking  all,  lost  all,  for  a  moment 
of  possession.  Perhaps  he  realized  this.  Perhaps 
her  appeal  gave  him  courage;  perhaps,  as  he  per 
suaded  himself,  he  really  loved  her,  and  could  not 
so  much  as  touch  that  little  hand  without  its  con- 

188 


HELEN 


sent;  perhaps  he  recognized  in  her  something  in 
finitely  sweeter  and  finer  than  a  gust  of  passion 
could  possess  itself  of;  perhaps,  too,  in  the  soil  of 
her  tenderness  the  germ  of  a  hope  which  counselled 
patience  stirred  to  life. 

"You  know  that  is  everything  to  me.  I  prom 
ise  you." 

What,  he  did  not  say,  and  she  did  not  ask.  Did 
either  know?  In  the  love  of  every  man  there  is 
something  reminiscent  of  childhood  —  obedience; 
as  in  the  love  of  every  woman  there  is  something 
prophetic  of  motherhood  —  sovereignty. 

After  all,  it  was  no  relief.  It  was  a  truce,  not 
peace,  —  at  best  peace  of  mind,  masquerading  as 
peace  of  heart,  —  and  yet  a  closer,  atoning  under 
standing  which  made  it  possible  to  speak  of  lesser 
things,  —  converse  as  subdued  as  the  winter  day 
and  the  bare  allies  of  the  wood,  lapsing  into  silences 
filled  with  a  sense  of  community  dearer  and  more 
perilous  than  speech. 

At  the  Lyons  station  she  dropped  a  crumb  of 
comfort.  "You  must  come  and  see  us  in  the 
Avenue  Montaigne.  We  move  this  week.  I  am 
really  more  interested  in  aerial  photography  than 
you  think." 

When  he  had  gone  she  lowered  the  window  be 
hind  Peter,  whose  head  was  turned  for  orders. 

"Are  n't  we  somewhere  near  the  Bois  de  Vin- 
cennes,  Peter?  Do  you  think  you  could  find  your 
way  there?" 

189 


HELEN 


Peter  thought  he  could. 

She  had  set  out  that  morning  with  the  intention 
of  spending  the  day  with  her  grandmother.  Once 
more  she  decided  that  her  grandmother  could  wait. 
She  wanted  to  be  alone  a  little  while.  She  wanted 
to  understand  why  it  was  she  was  not  unhappy. 
There  seemed  to  be  good  reason  for  being  so.  Not 
withstanding  the  brave  smile  on  Monsieur  de 
Trecourt's  face  as  he  disappeared  in  the  stream 
pouring  into  the  station,  she  was  sure  she  had 
caused  him  unhappiness.  It  was  not  reasonable  to 
find  pleasure  in  inflicting  pain.  Had  she  really 
inflicted  any?  With  some  misgivings,  but  very 
resolutely,  she  had  steered  her  barque  into  trou 
bled  waters,  and  it  had  floated  out  upon  a  more 
peaceful,  a  different  sea,  from  what  she  expected. 
Her  whole  effort  had  been  to  push  him  away.  Just 
now,  instead  of  inspiring  distrust  or  even  caution, 
he  had  drawn  her  to  him.  She  was  still  firm  in  the 
belief  that  she  had  acted  from  the  honestest  of 
motives,  straightforwardly  —  but  wisely?  The  re 
sult  was  so  different  from  what  she  had  foreseen. 
Pressing  her  foot  firmly  against  the  footrest,  she 
asked  herself  what  it  was  exactly  that  she  had 
foreseen.  Certainly  not  the  plain  statement  that 
he  loved  her.  Something  of  that  thought,  to  be 
sure,  had  been  the  reason  for  doing  what  she  had 
done  —  to  put  her  little  foot  on  the  spark  before 
it  became  flame,  to  extinguish  that  spark  by  the 
loyal  confession  of  her  own  thoughtlessness,  and 

190 


HELEN 


to  keep  him  —  yes,  to  keep  him  as  her  friend.  If 
love  had  been  in  the  background  of  her  thought, 
the  word  itself  had  not  taken  form  there.  She  was 
astonished  now  that  it  had  been  spoken.  How 
quietly  and  naturally  it  had  slipped  out  into 
speech!  And  it  could  never  be  ignored  again.  She 
pressed  the  little  foot  against  the  bar,  but  the 
word  was  there,  more  compelling  in  memory  than 
in  speech  —  the  undying  flame  whose  warmth  stole 
up  to  her  heart  and  cheek. 

"  Peter,  you  may  turn  now  —  the  Rue  du  Bac." 

She  stopped  on  the  quay  for  flowers.  It  was  a 
dull  leaden  day,  but  the  flower-stalls  never  seemed 
so  lovely  nor  her  grandmother  so  dear. 

"Helene,"  said  Madame  de  Chavigny,  as  she 
came  in,  "have  you  heard  the  news?  Our  Jean 
goes  to  Corea." 

Our!  her  grandmother  invariably  spoke  of  him 
in  that  way.  It  had  never  suggested  partnership 
before. 

"Yes."  She  had  not  intended  to  mention  her 
drive,  but  she  hated  deception.  "I  met  him  just 
now  at  the  door  and  took  him  to  the  station." 

"Then  he  told  you." 

"Yes."  The  necessity  of  saying  something, 
anything,  urged  her  on.  "  It  will  be  a  wonderful 
experience." 

"  Did  he  say  so?  Then  he  was  pleased?  " 

"N-no  —  not  very  —  we  were  speaking  of 
other  things.  We  are  moving  into  the  new  apart- 

191 


HELEN 


ment  this  week.  It  is  lovely.  You  must  come  and 
see  it." 

Madame  de  Chavigny  watched  the  slender 
fingers  lifting  the  roses  one  by  one  from  their  box 
to  the  vase,  vainly  endeavoring  to  see  the  averted 
face. 

Helen  was  silent.   She  hated  evasion,  too. 


XX 

THE  tall,  spare  figure  of  Monsieur  Saranow  was 
a  familiar  one  to  early  frequenters  of  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne.  Guardians  of  the  peace  who  had 
learned  to  recognize  the  iron-grey  horse  of  the 
Russian  Ambassador  stood  at  attention  as  he 
passed,  irrespective  of  the  weather,  on  his  morn 
ing  ride,  arid  paused  to  admire  the  soldierly  form 
of  His  Excellency  after  the  salute  had  been  ac 
knowledged. 

In  the  matter  of  return  salutes  Monsieur  Sara 
now  was  not  invariably  so  fortunate  as  they.  On 
this  particular  winter  morning  he  had  raised  his 
hat  to  a  charming  face  in  a  passing  limousine,  to 
learn  that  preoccupation  with  a  companion  and 
not  the  speed  of  the  motor  or  the  winter  landscape 
was  the  reason  for  a  wasted  civility. 

The  charming  face  hovered  before  His  Excel 
lency  on  the  homeward  ride,  and  smiled  at  him 
later  from  among  official  papers  on  the  desk  in  the 
Chancellerie.  His  cousin,  the  Princess  Ghica,  had 
not  infrequently  mentioned  that  face  in  her  ex 
uberant  epistles.  Tatia  was  given  to  exuberance, 
and  he  had  discounted  her  descriptions  accord 
ingly,  In  this  instance  he  had  been  forced  to  ad 
mit  that  she  had  not  exaggerated. 

He  had  not  asked  the  reason  for  her  letter  to 

193 


HELEN 


Coulomb.  The  most  ordinary  astuteness,  how 
ever,  could  not  fail  to  see  a  remote  connection 
between  that  letter  and  the  young  man  who  found 
tea  in  Tatia's  salon  so  diverting  and  the  morning 
air  of  the  Bois  so  much  to  his  liking.  While  sign 
ing  documents  at  the  Chancellerie  desk  Monsieur 
Saranow  became  obsessed  by  a  sense  of  duty  — 
the  duty  of  doing  something  or  seeing  somebody. 
When  the  last  routine  duty  was  finished,  leaning 
back  in  his  leather  armchair,  he  set  this  other,  as 
yet  vague,  duty  on  an  imaginary  pedestal,  the 
better  to  envisage  it  from  every  angle.  Scraps  of 
forgotten  information  in  his  cousin's  correspond 
ence  came  to  mind  while  thus  occupied,  from 
which  he  gradually  evolved  another  image  which 
he  also  set  up  beside  that  of  duty  —  the  image  of 
a  girl  about  twenty,  living  a  secluded  life  with  an 
old  woman  who  fared  badly  under  his  cousin's 
pen,  a  girl  upon  whom  a  shower  of  gold  had  de 
scended  as  on  the  mythical  Danae,  and  who  had 
evidently  inherited  from  overseas  that  microbe 
of  careless  indifference  for  old-world  proprieties 
which  was  his  present  concern. 

In  the  antiquity  shop  of  the  Rue  du  Bac  there 
existed  a  console  on  which  his  collector's  eye  had 
long  been  fixed.  It  was  a  signed  piece,  with  ad 
mirable  bronzes,  worthy  of  a  museum.  But  the 
price  was  quite  too  high.  Should  he  pay  that  old 
rascal  who  had  special  prices  for  ambassadors 
another  visit,  and  incidentally  take  advantage 

194 


HELEN 


of  his  proximity  to  Madame  de  Chavigny's  door 
way  to  pay  her  one  also?  The  old  Countess  was  a 
delightful  causeuse.  Over  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of 
sherry  —  no,  he  would  not  trouble  that  dear  old 
lady  or  disturb  the  joy  of  her  new  possession. 

There  was  that  hot-headed  godson  of  hers,  and 
there  was  Tatia.  He  dismissed  them  both.  Mon 
sieur  de  Trecourt  was  an  exalte  who  might  not 
be  amenable  to  discipline,  and  Tatia  was  such  a 
blunderer! 

The  face  of  duty  on  its  pedestal  softened,  and 
the  charming  face  in  the  limousine  appeared  in 
the  mirror  of  the  polished  mahogany  desk.  It 
was  a  disagreeable  and  thankless  r61e,  that  of 
busybody.  After  all,  was  it  any  business  of  his? 
He  would  wait. 

He  waited  till  his  cousin  was  established  in  the 
new  apartment  of  the  Avenue  Montaigne,  where 
he  decided  to  go  at  the  tea-hour  to  inspect  its  fur 
nishings,  about  which  he  foresaw  he  would  have 
much  to  criticise.  Not  that  Tatia's  taste  would 
be  at  fault.  That  was  the  difficulty.  Tatia  never 
maintained  a  proper  balance  between  her  tastes 
and  her  resources,  and  Dimitri  was  too  indulgent, 
or  lazy  —  both ! 

He  arrived  a  little  early,  before  Tatia  was  re 
ceiving.  Except  in  respect  to  royal  or  strictly  offi 
cial  appointments,  Tatia  was  irregular.  He  had 
not  counted  upon  this  deliberately.  It  merely  hap 
pened  that  he  advanced  the  clock  as  she  retarded 

195 


HELEN 


it.  In  this  way  he  gained  nearly  a  half-hour.  It 
happened  also  that  Mademoiselle  received  him. 
This  he  might  have  foreseen,  for  she  struck  him 
as  a  rather  prompt  and  energetic  person.  At  all 
events,  it  was  a  piece  of  good  fortune. 

Looking  over  his  cup  at  the  young  lady  presid 
ing  at  the  tea-table  with  so  naive  a  composure, 
the  parting  recommendation  of  Mrs.  Stuart  oc 
curred  to  him.  He  also  said  to  himself  that  it 
would  be  a  pleasure  to  match  his  wits  against 
hers.  But  this  would  be  to  declare  himself  an 
antagonist,  a  part  he  was  not  intending  to  play 
and  which  might  end  in  disaster.  For  he  had 
observed  that  with  human  beings,  as  with  horses, 
delicate  nostrils  like  those  the  other  side  of  the 
samovar  went  usually  with  a  dangerously  spirited 
disposition. 

Was  mademoiselle  enjoying  Paris?  Immensely. 
Did  mademoiselle,  whose  French  was  so  perfect, 
perchance  speak  Russian?  A  little,  a  few  words 
caught  from  Tatia. 

To  be  sure,  but,  he  was  bound  to  say,  a  poor 
teacher  who  spoke  her  own  language  badly  — 
otherwise  an  excellent  person  with  an  abnormally 
developed  heart,  an  organ  more  unruly  than  the 
tongue. 

Mademoiselle's  cup  paused  on  the  way  to  the 
lips. 

Monsieur  Saranow  was  a  past- master  of  indirec 
tion.  Looking  at  that  moment  into  the  clear  eyes 

196 


HELEN 


which  held  his  own,  he  decided  that  indirection 
would  be  a  blunder. 

''Mademoiselle,"  he  said  in  his  confidential 
manner,  "will  you  permit  me  to  commit  an  indis 
cretion?" 

"An  indiscretion,  Monsieur  Saranow!" 

The  words  had  no  sooner  escaped  him  than  he 
began  to  regret  them.  But  the  issue  was  joined. 

"Recently,  while  taking  my  morning  exercise 
in  the  Bois  —  " 

The  small  mouth  tightened,  then  broke  into  a 
smile.  "I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say;  you 
are  going  to  accuse  me  of  one." 
f  There  was  no  trace  of  resentment  in  the  voice. 
The  confusion  he  anticipated  he  was  experiencing 
himself. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on 
hers,  "have  I  accused  you  of  anything!  I  was 
only  thinking  that  in  a  great  city  like  this  one,  a 
sort  of  cave  of  Dionysius,  repeating  every  whis 
per—" 

"  Monsieur  Saranow,  you  need  not  defend  your 
self.  I  absolve  you  beforehand.  You  are  quite 
right.  I  admit  the  indiscretion.  In  your  turn  I 
ask  you  to  admit  that  the  reason  for  committing 
it  was  right  also." 

"I  am  convinced  of  it."  The  frankness  dis 
armed  him.  "But,"  he  persisted,  for  Duty  stood 
at  his  elbow,  "in  the  exercise  of  rights  a  certain 
perspective  is  necessary.  No  single  right,  for  ex- 

197 


HELEN 


ample,  stands  by  itself,  being  always  so  involved 
with  other  rights  that,  to  risk  a  paradox,  what  is 
in  itself  absolutely  right  becomes  at  times  rela 
tively  wrong." 

He  looked  up,  smiling  confidently. 

"  I  admit  that  also,  and  now  that  we  have  ac 
knowledged  our  indiscretions  and  pardoned  each 
other—" 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  throwing  up  his 
hands,  "  I  have  made  a  mess  of  it!" 

The  smile  deepened.  "  Did  you  expect  me  to  be 
angry?  You  see  I  am  not.  Ought  I  to  be?" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  not  visit 
such  a  penalty  upon  one  who  has  yielded  to  the 
detestable  habit  of  giving  advice." 

"You  confess,  then,  that  I  do  not  take  it  so 
badly." 

His  shrewd  eyes  twinkled  as  he  set  down  his 
cup.  "  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is  you  or  I  who 
is  giving  it  —  a  little  more  hot  water  this  time, 
please,  —  a  cup  of  real  Russian  tea  — " 

"Such  as  Tatia  makes  —  I  know."  And  they 
both  laughed  together. 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  shaking  his  long 
forefinger,  "some  day,  when  we  are  better  ac 
quainted,  I  shall  give  you  advice  of  another 
kind." 

"Of  what  kind,  Monsieur  Saranow?" 

"Not  to  treat  too  lightly  the  advances  of  one 
who  desires  the  privileges  of  friendship." 

198 


HELEN 


"  I  give  you  those  privileges  now,  with  this  cup 
of  tea.  Has  it  the  right  color?" 

The  door  opened  at  last.  Never  before  had 
Monsieur  Saranow  been  so  glad  to  see  his  Cousin 
Tatia. 

"Letters  from  Jack,  dear,"  she  said  to  Helen, 
with  a  nod  for  Alexis.  "What  do  you  think  of  it, 
cousin?" 

She  swept  the  room  with  a  critical  eye. 
"Excellent,  excellent  —  as  if  you  had  lived  here 
a  century  —  also,  as  if  you  intended  to." 

"  Come  and  see."  She  led  the  way  into  the  large 
salon.  "We  are  going  to  give  a  dinner  on  the 
twentieth.  Will  you  honor  us?" 

"The  honor  is  mine.   Who  are  your  guests?" 

"Thank  you  for  answering  before  asking.  Quite 
large  enough  for  a  dance,  is  n't  it."  She  stood 
under  the  crystal  lustre,  surveying  the  room  ap 
provingly.  "The  music-room  is  there,  the  dining- 
room  beyond,  and  on  this  side, — "  drawing  the 
portieres,  —  "  Dimitri's  den." 

"Excellent,  excellent,"  he  repeated.  "And 
your  guests,  Tatia." 

"  Here  they  are  —  "  fumbling  among  the  papers 
on  Dimitri's  desk  —  "see  for  yourself." 

"It  seems  this  den  of  Dimitri's  is  yours  also." 

"Naturally." 

"I  see  here  the  name  of  Coulomb,"  he  said, 
scanning  the  list  in  his  hand.  "You are  not  writ 
ing  any  more  letters?" 

199 


HELEN 


She  flashed  him  a  look  of  indignation. 

"But  you  have  seen  him." 

"Yes,  he  has  been  here." 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  your  eyes,  my  dear 
cousin,  but  of  your  tongue." 

"Not  a  word,"  she  replied  shortly. 

"So  then  you  have  abandoned  Monsieur  de 
Trecourt.  Does  it  please  you  to  enlighten  me  on 
the  subject  of  your  interest  in  that  gentleman,  and 
to  tell  me  why  he  has  fallen  from  grace?" 

"You  have  not  guessed?" 

"It  is  less  fatiguing  to  ask." 

The  Princess  winced.  Her  usually  confident 
state  of  mind  was  perturbed.  Trecourt's  Corean 
assignment  had  been  a  disagreeable  surprise,  and 
of  her  cousin  she  stood  as  nearly  in  awe  as  was 
possible  for  her  in  respect  to  any  one. 

"Since  it  is  settled  it  does  n't  matter,"  she  said 
evasively. 

"Ah,  well,  if  it  is  settled,  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it." 

"Sit  down,  Alexis,"  pushing  a  chair  toward  him 
and  sinking  into  one  herself;  "I  want  to  talk  to 
you.  What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Of  whom?" 

"Helen." 

"Of  mademoiselle?  How  you  jump  about! 
Charming." 

"  Is  n't  she."    She  paused  to  light  her  cigarette. 

He  was  looking  curiously  at  her  over  the  tips 
200 


HELEN 


of  his  fingers,  joined  end  to  end.  "Go  on,  Tatia. 
I  am  listening." 

"You  know  very  well  why  I  am  interested  in 
Trecourt.  The  thought  occurred  to  me  the  other 
night  at  Madame  de  Chavigny's  dinner.  She  was 
sounding  the  praises  of  her  godson  the  entire  even 
ing.  I  am  confident  it  was  her  thought  also.  Be 
sides,  he  pleased  me.  Was  it  a  bad  one?  Helen  is 
twenty.  On  his  side  there  is  nothing  to  find  fault 
with.  It  was  easy  to  see,  too,  that  they  pleased 
each  other.  So,  in  a  moment  of"  —  she  made 
a  gesture  signifying  further  explanation  was  un 
necessary —  "I  spoke  to  Trecourt"  —  the  ges 
ture  was  repeated  with  greater  emphasis  —  "Oh, 
guardedly  —  not  in  so  many  words  —  only  that 
I  might,  perhaps  —  well  —  you  saw  from  my  let 
ter  —  intercede  for  him." 

"Having  conceived  this  excellent  idea,  why  do 
you  abandon  it?" 

"It  is  not  for  you  to  ask  me  that  question, 
Alexis,  —  you  who  forbade  me  — " 

"Only  to  put  your  ideas  on  paper." 

"But  before  I  had  the  opportunity  to  speak  he 
is  bundled  off  to  Corea." 

Alexis  smiled.  "You  do  not  mean  to  tell  me, 
Tatia,  that  so  simple  an  obstacle  as  a  ministe 
rial  decree  discouraged  you!"  Serious  herself,  his 
bantering  tone  exasperated  her.  Or  was  he,  per 
chance,  serious?  "Women  are  so  unreasonable," 
he  mused;  "they  wish  to  keep  their  children  in 

201 


HELEN 


leading-strings  —  to  marry  them  off  like  blind 
kittens  whose  eyes  are  not  yet  open  to  the  world 
in  which  they  are  to  live." 

She  endured  the  ensuing  silence  till  she  could 
bear  it  no  longer. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  way,  Alexis?" 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  I  have 
half  a  mind  to  confide  to  you  an  encounter  which 
I  have  just  had  with  our  young  friend." 

"Just  now,  with  Helen!"  she  cried,  alert  at 
once.  She  checked  herself.  It  was  never  of  any 
use  to  hurry  him.  "You  rarely  confide  anything 
to  me." 

"You  would  have  laughed,  Tatia." 

"Come,  come,  Alexis"  —  losing  patience  — 
"I  am  laughing  already." 

"  I  undertook  to  offer  her  a  little  advice,  a  word 
of  caution  —  a  mere  word  —  after  meeting  our 
young  lovers  one  morning  in  the  Bois."  Tatia's 
eyes  were  opening  wide.  "Youth  is  so  imprudent. 
I  even  thought  of  consulting  you,  Tatia." 

"Even!" 

"But  in  so  delicate  a  matter  — " 

"Delicate!  Everybody  knows  with  what  deli 
cacy  you  convey  your  opinions!" 

"I  did  my  best.  I  wrapped  them  up  carefully 
in  a  Greek  legend,  reminding  her  that  the  cave  of 
Dionysius  is  not  altogether  a  fable.  I  was  pre 
pared  for  all  contingencies,  indignation,  confusion, 
penitence  — " 

202 


HELEN 


The  Princess  laughed  her  laugh  of  pure  enjoy 
ment.  "You  don't  mean  to  say  you  offered  to 
pardon  her!" 

"Quite  the  contrary.  She  convinced  me  that  it 
was  I  who  was  in  the  wrong.  Naturally  it  was  I 
who  was  pardoned.  She  is  a  very  clever  young 
lady." 

Tatia  blazed  up  at  once.  "Clever  is  not  the 
word  for  Helen.  She  is  too  honest." 

"If  by  honest  you  mean  communicative  —  at 
all  events,  we  parted  good  friends.  But  are  we 
not  leaving  her  a  long  time  alone  with  the  sam 
ovar?" 

"She  has  her  letters,"  replied  Tatia,  rising. 

In  the  passage  from  Dimitri's  den  to  the  salon 
she  did  some  rapid  thinking.  Too  honest,  yes,  and 
too  fearless!  That  Helen  should  run  off  every 
afternoon  to  the  Rue  du  Bac  was  natural  enough. 
No  one  could  dispute  the  prerogatives  of  Madame 
de  Chavigny.  But  with  Trecourt,  alone,  in  the 
Bois!  Her  habit,  now  that  Jack  was  not  here 
to  accompany  her,  of  rushing  about  Paris  in  the 
motor  with  truly  American  insouciance  had  al 
ready  aroused  serious  misgivings.  Tatia  disap 
proved  of  it  thoroughly,  though  she  had  not  yet 
ventured  to  interfere.  To  Helen's  independence 
of  character  there  had  been  added  that  other  in 
dependence  conferred  by  money.  Insensibly  she 
had  grown  to  feel  that  the  Helen  of  to-day  was 
neither  so  approachable  nor  so  amenable  to  dis- 

203 


HELEN 


cipline  as  the  penniless  dependent  of  the  Villa 
Fontana.  But,  after  all,  she,  Tatia,  was  to  a  very 
real  degree  responsible  for  her.  Disapprobation 
notwithstanding,  she  could  but  smile  —  for  her 
intuitions  were  right!  How  she  would  laugh  at 
Dimitri !  But  how  perfectly  ridiculous  to  set  out 
for  Corea!  What  were  these  children  thinking 
of?  To  sacrifice  the  present  for  a  career?  With  a 
million  in  the  pocket?  What  a  nightmare! 

"Children  always  take  the  future  for  granted," 
she  said,  thinking  aloud,  "as  if  happiness  were  a 
right.  At  our  age,  Alexis,  we  thank  God  for  every 
crumb  from  his  table." 

"You  manage  to  pick  up  a  good  many  crumbs, 
Tatia.  Will  you  accept  one  from  me?  Go  with 
me  to  Petersburg  this  summer?" 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  salon.  She 
stopped,  looking  at  him  incredulously. 

"And  leave  Dimitri?   No,  thanks." 

"I  am  sorry.  I  must  leave  Dimitri  in  charge." 
He  took  up  his  hat  and  gloves.  "Au  revoir, 
mademoiselle.  I  shall  not  forget  that  friendship 
implies  obligations  as  well  as  privileges."  To 
Helen's  smile  he  nodded  enigmatically.  At  the 
door  he  turned  to  his  cousin :  — 

"Think  it  over,  Tatia.  One  can  pay  too  dearly 
even  for  Dimitri." 


XXI 

JEAN  DE  TRECOURT'S  personality  was  one  that 
appealed  to  women,  a  compound  of  shyness  and 
daring  —  shyness  without  fear  and  daring  with 
out  coarseness.  Gifted  with  a  lively  imagination, 
the  only  avenue  to  the  heart,  it  was  this  quality 
which  made  him  most  at  ease  in  the  society  of  the 
other  sex.  No  one  could  accuse  him  of  being  a 
ladies'  man  in  the  sense  of  absorption  in,  or  even 
liking  for,  the  accomplishments  which  distinguish 
that  monstrosity — as  repugnant  as  the  Hermaph 
rodite  of  the  Greek  sculptor.  But  his  manhood 
lacked  the  salt  of  self-conceit,  the  aggressive  self- 
confidence  of  pure  masculinity.  Quiet,  thought 
ful,  modest  among  his  fellows,  he  often  suffered 
misconception  from  men  in  the  smoking-room 
after  dinner,  where  assertiveness  contends  with 
merit  —  the  merit  that  waits  the  test  of  emer 
gency  before  disclosing  itself.  Elsewhere  he  won 
his  way  by  the  sure,  unconscious  instinct  of  feel 
ing,  the  dominant  trait  of  all  winning  personali 
ties,  by  the  warring  qualities  of  submissiveness 
and  impetuosity  which  take  the  heart  by  storm 
when  bolder  measures  leave  it  cold. 

He  was  therefore  his  mother's  child  rather  than 
his  father's.  The  latter,  imperious,  wise  in  his 
own  conceit,  with  the  perversity  which  seeks  to 

205 


HELEN 


re-mould  what  it  does  not  understand,  had  begun 
in  infancy  the  futile  task  of  refashioning  nature, 
to  trace  the  grooves  in  which  this  nature  was  to 
run.  Thus  far  Jean  had  not  revolted.  Once  he 
would  have  welcomed  the  freedom  from  paternal 
domination  offered  by  his  Eastern  assignment,  as 
he  had  welcomed  its  temporary  eclipse  during 
the  term  of  his  military  service.  Just  now  a  new 
factor  of  control  converted  every  spot  but  Paris 
into  the  uttermost  waste  parts  of  the  earth.  Just 
now  he  was  struggling  with  those  counter-currents 
of  fealty  and  desire  which  engender  the  '  torments 
of  love.' 

He  knew  well  what  reception  his  father  would 
give  to  the  news  of  his  assignment.  He  would 
remind  him  that  his  own  diplomatic  career  had 
begun  in  Teheran,  and  dilate  on  the  opportuni 
ties  afforded  by  a  distant  post,  removed  from  the 
intrigues  of  home  politics,  for  laying  the  founda 
tions  for  a  distinguished  future.  He  would  forget 
the  years  he  had  languished,  forgotten,  in  that 
distant  post.  All  the  musty  wisdom  of  the  old 
diplomat  in  retirement  would  be  his  to  profit  by. 
His  mother  would  shed  some  tears,  and  dry  them 
busying  herself  over  his  outfit. 

For  all  this  he  was  prepared  when  returning 
to  Avrincourt  on  the  day  of  his  interview  with 
Helen.  His  father's  notion  of  life  was  too  simple 
to  be  mistaken.  Its  first  and  last  term  was  obe 
dience.  Discussion  was  out  of  the  question.  The 

206 


HELEN 


only  alternative  was  flat  rebellion.  Listening  to 
the  complacent  congratulations  which  greeted 
him,  there  came  the  vision  of  a  small  hand  lying 
on  a  muff.  Ah,  if  that  little  hand  were  in  his,  he 
would  defy  the  world !  Was  he  responsible  for  the 
thoughts  which  bubbled  up  from  the  twin  springs 
of  misery  and  hope? 

Fealty  was  uppermost  when  he  presented  him 
self  in  the  Avenue  Montaigne  on  the  evening  of  the 
Princess's  dinner;  but  a  fealty  disposed  to  search, 
furtively,  in  the  company  of  hope,  for  avenues  of 
escape,  and  which  had  to  be  held  well  in  leash. 

It  was  not  without  some  hesitation  that  the 
Princess  had  added  his  name  to  her  dinner  list. 
There  were  times  when  Helen's  demeanor  almost 
made  her  believe  she  was  mistaken.  Once  she  had 
been  on  the  verge  of  opening  her  heart  in  a  burst 
of  confidence.  But  opening  her  heart  to  Helen 
was  really  opening  Helen's.  She  could  not  hon 
estly  say  that  Helen's  manner  was  less  affection 
ate.  She  had  always  been  frank,  though  not  al 
ways  transparent  or  demonstrative.  Sometimes 
Tatia  debated  whether  the  change,  if  change  there 
was,  was  not  the  fiction  of  her  own  sensitive  affec 
tion.  With  all  her  tendency  to  plain  speaking, 
she  had  the  gift  of  comprehension,  of  comprehend 
ing  that  in  Helen's  equal  but  less  impulsive  frank 
ness  there  were  doors  which  only  Helen  could 
open,  which  it  would  be  sheer  madness  to  force 
under  any  pretence  of  affection  or  interest. 

207 


HELEN 


Discussing  her  dinner  list  one  evening  with 
Dimitri,  she  appealed  casually  to  Helen.  There 
was  Monsieur  de  Trecourt,  who  she  understood 
was  soon  to  leave  Paris  —  should  she  include  him? 
Helen's  acquiescence  was  so  completely  indiffer 
ent  as  to  be  disconcerting.  Indifference  was  a 
cloak  which  might  conceal  anything.  She  looked 
over  at  the  girl,  absorbed  in  her  book,  —  and 
Jean's  name  went  on  the  list.  Whatever  else 
Tatia  was,  she  was  not  the  burnt  child  which 
dreads  the  fire. 

The  exactions  of  precedence  admitting  of  no 
elasticity  in  her  seating  arrangements,  her  choice 
for  Helen  lay  between  the  two  ends  of  the  table, 
beside  either  the  third  secretary  of  the  embassy  or 
Monsieur  de  Trecourt.  Consulted  as  to  her  pref 
erences,  Helen  said  it  did  not  matter. 

"But  I  want  you  to  have  an  agreeable  com 
panion,  dear." 

"I  shall  in  either  case." 

"Toss  up  for  it,"  suggested  Dimitri. 

"Very  well,"  laughed  Helen. 

"Monsieur  de  Trecourt,"  she  said,  when  he 
offered  his  arm,  "it  was  literally  fate  which  des 
tined  you  to  take  me  to  dinner  again." 

Before  she  could  explain  her  meaning,  "I 
thought  it  was  you,"  he  whispered. 

Once  more  she  regretted  her  words,  and  once 
more  she  laid  the  blame  upon  him. 

208 


HELEN 


"You  are  incorrigible  —  you  deserve  a  repri 
mand."  The  reprimand  was  less  severe  than  the 
one  she  sought  for.  "  I  asked  you  to  come  to  fin 
ish  your  explanation  of  that  device  for  aerial  pho 
tography.  Have  you  forgotten?" 

"No,  mademoiselle,  I  have  not  forgotten,  but 
I  beg  of  you  to  remember  that  in  disobeying  one 
command  I  was  obeying  another." 

"  Do  you  think  obedience  consists  in  reminding 
me  of  it?"  she  said  coldly. 

One  topic  they  sedulously  evaded  —  Corea; 
each  giving  the  other  the  credit  for  avoiding  what 
neither  dared  to  mention.  But  the  truce  was 
broken  by  Jean's  vivacious  neighbor,  who,  before 
the  napkins  were  unfolded,  exclaimed:  — 

"So  you  are  going  to  the  Hermit  Kingdom, 
Monsieur  de  Trecourt.  What  luck!" 

"Why  do  you  say  luck,  madame?"  asked  Jean, 
endeavoring  to  smile. 

"Because  you  will  have  such  interesting  things 
to  tell  us  when  you  return.  If  there  were  a  Ma 
dame  de  Trecourt"  —  she  shrugged  her  pretty 
bare  shoulders  —  "  I  would  perhaps  not  say  so,  for 
I  confess  there  are  regions  more  attractive  to  me. 
But  for  a  young  man  without  encumbrances  — 
surely  there  must  be  adventures  there  —  lions, 
perhaps.  Are  there  lions  in  Corea?" 

"You  turn  me  over  very  lightly  to  the  wild 
beasts,  madame." 

He  was  thinking  meantime  that  if  there  were 
209 


HELEN 


to  be  adventures  in  Corea  it  might  not  be  neces 
sary  to  await  his  return  to  relate  them.  Then,  at 
the  first  opportunity,  when  the  rising  hum  of 
voices  permitted,  he  ventured:  — 

"May  I  write  to  you,  mademoiselle  —  of  the 
Corean  lions?" 

But  the  answer,  if  any,  was  caught  in  the  cur 
rents  of  conversation  and  swept  away. 

Thereafter  the  dinner  dragged  on  for  him 
through  its  many  courses,  the  personal  note  lost 
in  the  general  talk,  till  the  ladies  were  escorted 
back  to  the  drawing-room  and  Dimitri's  den 
swallowed  up  the  men. 

Jean  lingered.  "You  have  not  answered  my 
question,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  standing  before 
her. 

She  looked  up  from  her  seat  with  that  little 
quiver  of  the  mouth  he  loved. 

"Can  you  not  wait  till  I  have  first  written 
you?  "  The  light  which  flamed  up  in  his  eyes  trans 
figured  him.  "Please  go,  Monsieur  de  Trecourt. 
Why  do  you  make  me  say  things  which  I  regret  — 
I  hate  you!" 

The  words  came  with  the  dazing  force  of  a 
blow.  For  a  moment  they  conveyed  no  meaning. 
Then  the  blood  rushed  back  to  his  face  and  he 
turned  stifHy  on  his  heel. 

Subsequently  in  the  smoking-room,  he  made 
some  desperate  but  futile  efforts  to  escape.  The 
great  Coulomb  deigned  to  converse  with  him  for 

210 


HELEN 


a  flattering  period.  His  Excellency  Monsieur 
Saranow  even  promised  him  letters  which  would 
prove  useful,  for  events  were  thickening  in  the 
Orient.  When  at  last  he  managed  to  slip  away, 
Tatia  lay  in  wait  for  him. 

"What  a  villainous  luck  you  have,  Monsieur 
de  Trecourt!  Let  us  hope  it  will  not  be  for 
long." 

He  was  at  that  moment  near  to  despising  all 
women  for  their  deceit.  Groping  about  in  his  bit 
terness  for  an  answer  worthy  of  such  flippancy, 
he  hit  upon  one  of  her  own. 

"I  remember,  Princess,  that  you  once  told  me 
there  were  ladders  which  one  must  climb  alone. 
Profiting  by  your  kind  permission  I  ventured  to 
address  mademoiselle  on  the  subject  —  and  the 
incident  is  closed." 

His  heels  clicked  together,  and  before  she  could 
recover  from  her  astonishment  he  had  disap 
peared. 

The  relief  he  experienced  in  making  this  un 
premeditated  disclosure  was  instantaneous.  He 
had  accepted  the  fact,  the  incident,  he  repeated 
to  himself,  was  closed  —  and  the  wound.  He 
had  violated  his  promise,  she  had  reminded  him 
of  it  brutally,  and  all  was  over.  It  was  only  be 
cause  he  had  hitherto  refused  to  admit  it  that  he 
had  suffered. 

It  was  this  convincing  logic  which  enabled  him 
a  moment  later  to  search  phlegmatically  for  a 

211 


HELEN 


modest  cab  among  the  limousines  in  the  Avenue 
Montaigne. 

"  I  noticed  in  the  Gazette  that  you  are  sending 
our  young  friend  Trecourt  to  Corea." 

It  was  Alexis  speaking  to  Coulomb.  The  defer 
ence  accorded  to  greatness  had  left  the  two  tete-a- 
tete  on  the  deep  divan  of  the  smoking-room. 

"Trecourt  —  Trecourt,"  repeated  the  Minister, 
knitting  his  eyebrows  in  an  effort  of  memory; 
"ah,  yes,  Corea,  to  be  sure.  He  told  me  just  now 
he  was  leaving  to-morrow.  Mon  DieuS'  he  added, 
leaning  forward  to  deposit  the  ash  of  his  cigar  in 
the  lacquered  tray,  his  eyes  twinkling,  "one  must 
send  him  somewhere." 

"It  happens,"  pursued  Alexis,  "that  I  have 
some  despatches  for  our  diplomatic  agent  in 
Egypt  —  too  important  for  the  mail.  Just  now 
we  are  short-handed  at  the  Embassy.  Would  it 
embarrass  you  if  Trecourt  remained  over  a  day  in 
Cairo  to  deliver  them?  He  goes  by  Suez,  I  pre 
sume?" 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  colleague,  by  no  means. 
Send  them  to  me.  I  will  make  a  note  of  it — " 
taking  out  his  tablets  —  "and  now,  shall  we  join 
the  ladies?" 

Meanwhile  Tatia's  thoughts  were  continually 
slipping  away  from  the  formalities  of  after-dinner 
conversation.  She  was  thankful  when  the  last 
guest  had  departed.  The  first  bewilderment  pro- 

212 


HELEN 


duced  by  Jean's  abrupt  announcement  had  been 
succeeded  by  a  deep  concern.  She  was  not  dis 
tinguished  for  her  ultra-conventional  methods. 
In  yielding  to  her  impulse  to  achieve  for  Helen 
a  happiness  supreme  in  her  own  heart,  she  had 
counted  upon  piloting  the  ship  of  Helen's  des 
tiny  with  her  own  experienced  hands.  Helen  had 
never  had  any  secrets  she  had  not  shared.  In  the 
sincerity  and  affection  of  her  motives  she  had  for 
gotten  that  she  had  one  which  she  had  not  shared 
with  Helen.  The  thought  that  there  should  grow 
up  between  them  any  detachment  of  interest  dis 
mayed  her. 

She  was  not  in  the  habit  of  weighing  her  words 
with  any  one,  never  with  Helen  —  at  least  not 
till  recently.  The  mere  thought  of  doing  so  would 
have  given  them  a  significance  foreign  to  her  im 
pulsive  utterances,  outbursts  which  always  van 
ished  like  a  puff  of  steam.  But  when  sitting  be 
fore  the  fire  that  evening  in  Helen's  room,  timidity, 
near  neighbor  to  embarrassment,  paralyzed  her.  It 
would  have  been  better  to  trust  to  the  inspiration 
of  feeling,  instead  of  which  she  began  to  choose 
her  words.  She  was  choosing  them,  stamping 
each  one  with  the  seal  of  thoughtful  approval, 
while  looking  at  Helen,  reflected  in  the  mirror 
over  the  fireplace.  She  had  consulted  Dimitri 
over  Helen's  use  of  the  motor.  He  had  not  seemed 
much  impressed  by  her  concern  and  had  coun 
selled  caution.  Just  now  this  grievance  was  not 

213 


HELEN 


troubling  her,  but  she  might  make  it  a  stepping- 
stone.  The  slender  figure  in  the  mirror  in  night 
dress  and  plaited  hair  was  such  a  frail  one  that  she 
longed  to  gather  it  up  in  her  arms  —  which  would 
have  been  infinitely  best. 

It  was  the  auspicious  moment  for  just  that,  for 
Helen,  too,  was  in  need.  She  had  not  meant  to 
be  kind  to  Monsieur  de  Trecourt.  She  had  not 
meant  to  be  unkind  to  him.  She  had  meant  to  be 
neither,  to  hold  an  even  course,  as  one  is  prone 
to  do  when  the  mind  wars  with  the  heart.  And 
she  had  been  both  kind  and  unkind.  She  had 
made  him  flush  with  happiness,  and  she  had  made 
him  miserable  with  disappointment.  She  had 
been  untrue  to  herself  and  she  was  herself  miser 
ably  unhappy.  She  knew  now  why.  She  knew 
when  he  bent  over  her  hand  without  lifting  his 
eyes  and  went  away  in  silence.  She  knew  now 
when  she  met  her  own  revealing  eyes  in  the  mirror 
of  the  toilet-table.  One  moment  more  and  she 
had  risen  to  do  what  the  Princess  was  longing  to 
do  herself.  Unfortunately  Tatia  spoke  first,  for 
getting  her  stepping-stone,  putting  her  finger  on 
the  sorest  spot  of  the  heart  —  and  the  melting 
mood  changed  to  ice. 

"Helen,  I  understand  Monsieur  de Tr6court — " 

The  supple  figure  before  the  glass  became  in 
stantly  rigid. 

" — leaves  to-morrow  for  Corea  —  did  he  tell 
you?" 

214 


HELEN 


"Monsieur  de  Tr6court  doesn't  confide  his 
plans  to  me." 

The  Princess  lost  her  bearings.  It  was  rather 
late  to  confide  her  own  plans,  and  the  carefully 
chosen  words  slipped  out  of  hand. 

"I  hoped  you  might  — " 

She  got  no  further.  The  cynical  laugh  cut  her 
sentence  in  two  like  a  knife. 

"Please  Tatia"  — she  turned  out  the  light 
above  the  dressing-table  as  she  spoke  —  "I  am 
not  interested  in  Corea,  and  I  'm  mortally  sleepy." 

The  Princess  stared  at  her,  speechless.  The 
words  were  both  a  shock  and  a  revelation.  She 
loves  him  after  all,  she  thought,  and  sprang  to  her 
feet.  There  was  no  response  in  the  averted  face, 
and  instantly  the  wall  between  them  rose  moun 
tains  high.  She  made  a  desperate  effort  to  sur 
mount  it,  but  the  eyes  would  not  meet  hers  and 
the  lips  barely  touched  her  cheek. 

"Good-night,  Tatia." 

"Good-night,"  she  murmured,  bewildered  and 
sore  of  heart. 


XXII 

THE  express  for  Marseilles  stood  waiting  in  the 
Lyons  station  for  the  last  signal. 

Venders  of  sandwiches  and  pillows  were  hurry 
ing  from  window  to  window.  Porters,  bent  with 
luggage  and  followed  by  anxious  travellers  search 
ing  for  empty  compartments,  elbowed  their  way 
through  the  struggling  crowd.  Without,  rain  was 
falling  in  torrents.  Its  roar  on  the  glass  roof  over 
head  sounded  incessant  above  the  shrill  cries  of 
men  and  women,  over  whom  the  wind  swept  the 
swirling  clouds  of  pungent  smoke  from  the  engine 
panting  rhythmically  outside  the  great  iron  arch. 
As  the  hands  of  the  big  clock  suspended  above  the 
platform  neared  the  hour,  the  station-master  in 
his  red  and  gold  cap  lifted  his  hand,  doors  were 
banged  to  the  cry  of  "En  voiture,  messieurs!"  and 
hands  waved  farewells  from  the  windows. 

Jean's  foot  was  on  the  step  when  a  slender  fig 
ure  wrapped  in  a  crimson  cloak  forced  its  way 
through  the  throng  about  him.  Helen!  Helen! 
She  was  in  his  arms  —  "Oh,  my  Helen!" 

Just  for  a  moment,  a  moment  to  be  remem 
bered  through  eternity,  he  held  her,  lips  to  lips, 
in  the  smoke  and  wind,  deaf  to  the  world.  "Quick 
—  go  —  you  will  be  left  —  Oh,  quick,  quick!"  she 
gasped,  struggling  free.  A  rough  voice  in  his  ear 

216 


HELEN 


cried,  "Voyons!  voyons!  montezdonc!"  a  vigorous 
hand  pushed  him  up  the  step,  the  door  clanged, 
and  the  platform,  with  its  sea  of  upturned  faces 
under  the  flickering  lights,  slid  slowly  backward. 

At  the  window,  the  moisture  of  her  lips  still  on 
his,  the  freshness  of  her  cheek  wet  with  the  rain 
still  against  his,  staring  into  the  night  which  like 
a  tunnel  engulfed  him,  he  heard  a  thin,  high  voice 
saying  pleasantly :  — 

''If  monsieur  does  not  object  we  will  close  the 
window.  The  night  air  is  unhealthy." 

A  little  old  man  in  the  remote  corner  of  the 
compartment,  fumbling  in  his  portmanteau  and 
smiling  at  the  follies  of  youth,  was  putting  on  his 
skull-cap. 


XXIII 

FOR  Madame  de  Chavigny  life  centred  in  the  per 
son  of  Helen.  It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  be  actu 
ally  jealous  of  the  Princess  Ghica's  possession,  yet 
she  was  not  wholly  reconciled  to  the  winter's  dis 
tribution  of  it.  To  the  Princess  it  seemed  that 
when  Helen  was  not  ransacking  Paris  for  Jack's 
outfit  she  was  sure  to  be  found  in  the  Rue  du  Bac. 
To  Madame  de  Chavigny  these  visits  seemed  few 
and  far  between.  It  was  always  a  sacrifice  to  sur 
render  her  treasure  in  favor  of  engagements  made 
in  the  Avenue  Montaigne,  or  on  the  appearance 
of  Jacques  to  say  that  mademoiselle's  car  had 
returned  for  her  and  the  plea  that  Peter  could  not 
be  kept  waiting  indefinitely.  It  was  a  delicate 
matter  to  risk  offending  the  Princess,  whose 
claims  of  affection  were  too  sincere  to  be  under 
valued.  Nevertheless  her  own  claims  were  para 
mount,  and  all  others  perilously  near  intrusions. 
She  had  not  discussed  the  future  with  Helen,  but 
with  the  coming  of  springtime  and  its  annual 
flight  into  the  country  she  counted^upon  entering 
into  fuller  possession  of  her  rights.  At  first  the 
contrast  between  the  seclusion  of  the  Rue  du  Bac 
and  the  life  of  the  Avenue  Montaigne  had  af 
frighted  her,  as  if  the  all  she  had  to  offer,  the  love 

218 


HELEN 


of  an  old  woman,  were  not  enough  to  set  against 
the  seductions  of  the  great  outside  world.  Little 
by  little  this  fear  had  passed,  and  the  tacit  under 
standing  that  they  belonged^to  each  other  became 
firmly  established.  To  the  claims  of  the  Villa 
Fontana  neither  ever  referred. 

Every  afternoon,  when  dipping  her  biscuit  in 
the  sherry,  she  heard  Jacques,  an  enormous  box 
of  flowers  in  his  arms,  say  proudly,  "for  Madame 
la  Comtesse  from  mademoiselle" —  a  formula  re 
peated  the  twentieth  time  with  as  much  unction 
as  the  first. 

It  was  Helen,  fresh  as  a  flower  herself,  who 
brought  them  to-day,  walking  in  with  maid  and 
portmanteau  and  the  astounding  and  enchanting 
announcement  of  her  intention  to  remain  over 
night.  It  was  her  first  visit  of  that  length,  and  a 
rare  excitement  pervaded  the  household;  for  the 
bedroom  overlooking  the  court  was  to  be  prepared 
and  additions  made  to  the  day's  menu  suitable  for 
a  young  lady  whose  wealth,  according  to  Jacques's 
estimate,  attained  fabulous  proportions. 

Without,  the  day  bore  no  resemblance  to  the 
joyous  one  within.  On  the  flagging  of  the  court 
the  pools  of  gathering  water,  lashed  by  the  furi 
ous  rain,  danced  in  the  glare  of  the  lights,  lit  long 
before  their  time.  But  rain  or  shine,  there  was  a 
dress,  ordered  for  the  Embassy  ball,  to  receive  a 
last  verdict  at  six  o'clock.  In  vain  Madame  de 
Chavigny  protested  that  to-morrow  would  do  as 

219 


HELEN 


well.  No,  Peter  was  coming  at  half-past  five. 
What  did  a  little  rain  matter! 

There  was  another  thing  to  be  done,  rain  or 
shine.  Something  which  at  daybreak  loomed  only 
vague  and  shadowy  in  the  background  of  the 
heart,  like  the  phantom  shapes  of  the  pedestrians 
seen  through  the  obscuring  mist  when  the  shut 
ters  were  first  parted  in  the  Avenue  Montaigne  — 
a  trivial  thing,  just  the  desire  to  clear  away  a  mis 
understanding,  to  set  herself  right,  to  heal  a  self- 
inflicted  wound  —  trivial,  yet  difficult  of  perform 
ance,  but  oh !  so  necessary  and  right ! 

The  thought  that  Monsieur  de  Tr£court,  on  this 
the  day  of  his  departure,  might  look  in  upon  the 
Rue  du  Bac  had  come  even  before  the  shutters 
were  drawn.  It  was  this  thought  that  led  to 
the  note  that  went  up  on  Tatia's  breakfast 
tray,  to  be  interpreted  as  the  sequel  to  the  night 
before. 

But  if  Monsieur  de  Tr6court  should  not  go  to 
the  Rue  du  Bac! 

The  vague  desire  became  a  hunger  then,  almost 
a  purpose ;  and  on  the  way  through  the  city  —  it 
was  only  a  little  detour  —  the  car  stopped  in  the 
Rue  Vignon  where  Peter  brought  back  the  mes 
sage  that  the  express  connecting  with  the  Messag- 
eries  Steamer  for  the  East  left  at  seven.  What 
should  be  the  token  of  good-will  and  Godspeed, 
the  messenger  to  clear  misunderstanding  away, 
the  balm  to  heal  the  wound?  One  there  was,  mes- 

220 


HELEN 


senger  and  balm  in  one,  not  to  be  bought  in  shops 
or  sent  by  other  hands.  She  saw  it  reflected  in  the 
silver  salver  when  she  poured  the  sherry  for  grand 
mamma,  listening  to  the  story  of  that  madcap 
godson's  visit  of  farewell  that  very  morning. 
May  God  go  with  him!  It  spoke  to  her  in  the 
quiet  room  overlooking  the  court  when  she  fas 
tened  a  borrowed  few  of  grandmamma's  violets 
just  inside  the  fur  of  her  cloak.  She  saw  it  again, 
face  to  face  and  more  imperative,  in  the  long  pier- 
glass  when  the  genius  who  presided  over  skirts, 
on  her  knees,  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  evened  the 
train  of  her  creation  and  pronounced  it  perfect  — 
so  imperative  that  when  Peter,  waiting  for  the 
order  'home,'  heard  instead  'Gare  de  Lyon,'  inde 
cision  had  vanished ;  and  Peter,  obedient  and  safe 
driver,  closed  the  door  upon  a  heap  of  passion- 
driven  humanity,  huddled  in  the  dark  corner  of 
the  car. 

Passion-driven,  but  very  resolute  and  calm, 
intent  on  squaring  justice  with  mercy,  till  in  the 
smoke  and  wind,  the  roar  of  voices  and  steam, 
struggling  through  the  crowd  under  the  clock 
which  would  not  wait,  arms  caught  her,  the  cur 
rents  of  passion  met,  and  swept  her  away. 

Where?  Just  now,  speeding  homeward,  it  did 
not  matter.  It  was  easier  to  look  backward,  over 
the  wonderful  way  she  had  come,  from  that  first 
ridiculous  encounter  on  the  landing  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  to  the  present  overpowering  joy  of 

221 


HELEN 


surrender  and  possession.  Why  had  she  struggled? 
—  when  a  single  instant  of  confession  sufficed  to 
redeem  and  justify  everything!  It  was  as  if  all 
conflicting  emotions  had  suddenly  arranged  them 
selves  in  a  preordained  harmony,  from  which 
trouble  of  heart  and  confusion  of  purpose,  regret 
and  self-condemnation  had  gone  forever. 

The  evening  was  warm  and  sultry.  The  fury 
of  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  stars  were  beginning 
to  show  through  the  low  drift  of  cloud,  and  before 
the  glare  of  windows  blurred  by  the  moisture, 
under  the  dripping  trees  and  awnings,  the  hurry 
ing  stream  of  life  flowed  on  unceasing.  She  low 
ered  the  shade  at  her  side,  shutting  out  this  world 
which  had  no  part  in  hers,  holding  fast  to  that 
moment  which  had  thrust  her,  almost  brutally, 
like  a  thing  without  will,  into  her  new  world, 
leaning  back  with  closed  eyes,  not  yet  able  to  re 
concile  the  loss  of  self-possession  with  the  joy  of 
surrender.  Far  away,  somewhere  beyond  the 
curtained  window  was  the  world  of  shadows,  — 
Madame  de  Chavigny,  Tatia,  Jack,  an  hour  ago  so 
vital  in  their  reality  and  importance,  now  to  be 
re- grouped,  readjusted,  and  subordinated  to  a 
new  and  supreme  necessity.  An  hour  ago  they 
had  been  sufficient  —  now  she  was  not  even  suffi 
cient  unto  herself.  For  she  was  no  longer  alone, 
would  never  be  alone  again.  The  thought  surged 
up  with  all  its  overpowering  content  of  mysteri 
ous  meaning,  obliterating  everything. 

222 


HELEN 


As  the  motor  turned  into  the  Rue  du  Bac  she 
sat  up.  Here  began  the  world  to  be  reckoned 
with.  How  was  he  facing  it!  What  was  he  think 
ing,  doing!  A  quick  revulsion  of  loneliness,  of 
helplessness,  came  over  her,  the  fear  of  his  im 
pulsive  boyishness,  the  longing  to  consult  him, 
the  old  challenge  of  'what  ought  to  be  done,'  with 
which  Jack's  thoughtlessness  had  so  often  con 
fronted  her.  What  was  to  be  done  she  knew  well, 
and  she  did  not  recoil  from  it.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  she  had  something  to  conceal,  some 
thing  hidden  in  her  heart  which  could  live  only  in 
the  sun.  That  she  was  ready  to  proclaim  to  the 
whole  world  —  but  to  explain,  to  share  with  any 
one,  even  her  grandmother,  that  one  moment  of 
abandonment  in  which  she  was  still  living  —  oh, 
if  he  were  only  here  to  speak  for  her! 

Peter,  deferential  but  observant,  dropped  his 
eyes  to  the  running-board  as  he  opened  the  door. 
This  was  not  Peter's  way,  and  a  hot  flush  rose  to 
her  cheek. 

There  were  voices  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
in  answer  to  the  enquiry  in  her  eyes  she  heard 
Jacques  saying:  — 

"His  Excellency  Monsieur  Saranow,  mademoi 
selle." 

On  that  dismal  afternoon  Monsieur  Saranow 
had  conceived  the  happy  idea  that  depressing 
weather  sometimes  had  a  depressing  effect  on 
prices.  He  would  make  that  stubborn  old  man  in 

223 


HELEN 


the  Rue  du  Bac  a  final  offer.  He  ordered  his  car 
riage,  but  left  it  at  the  Quai  in  order  to  divest  him 
self  of  all  superfluous  importance,  walking  up  the 
street  under  his  dripping  umbrella  and  making  his 
offer  with  the  nonchalance  and  indifference  of  the 
casual  visitor.  A  moment  later  he  was  climbing 
the  stairs  to  Madame  de  Chavigny's  apartment. 
The  coveted  masterpiece  of  Boulle  was  his.  Not 
to  share  his  satisfaction  with  some  one  was  im 
possible.  He  found  Madame  de  Chavigny  disap 
pointingly  unsympathetic.  She  was  in  despair 
over  the  prolonged  absence  of  her  granddaughter 
who,  two  hours  before,  had  gone  for  a  fitting  — 
and  without  her  maid!  Something  certainly  had 
happened.  He  was  offering  to  send  his  own  car 
riage  when  the  bell  tinkled  in  the  antechamber 
and  Helen  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"My  child,  how  you  have  frightened  me!" 
exclaimed  Madame  de  Chavigny,  stretching  out 
her  hands. 

Coming  quickly  forward,  Helen  took  them  in 
hers  and  bent  to  the  upturned  face.  She  made  no 
attempt  to  explain.  Only  one  explanation  was 
possible.  She  was  grateful  for  delay,  for  Mon 
sieur  Saranow's  presence.  Disengaging  herself 
from  the  arms  about  her  neck,  she  caught  his 
grey-blue  eyes  fixed  upon  her.  He  thought  her  at 
that  moment  extraordinarily  handsome.  A  dress 
maker  who  could  bungle  over  such  a  figure  for  two 
hours  should  be  summarily  dismissed!  She  read 

224 


HELEN 


his  frank  admiration  in  his  eyes  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"Have  I  kept  dinner  waiting?    Forgive  me." 

Monsieur  Saranow  reached  for  his  hat  and 
gloves.  "That  would  be  a  pleasure,  but — " 

"Wait  a  moment,  both  of  you,"  interrupted 
Madame  de  Chavigny.  "Helen,  Monsieur  Sara 
now  has  been  telling  me  about  our  Jean — " 

Helen  started.  "About — "  the  name  with  its 
new  sense  of  intimacy  died  upon  her  lips  — 
"about  Monsieur  de  Trdcourt!  What  has  hap 
pened?" 

"Nothing  has  happened,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Monsieur  Saranow,  smiling.  "I  was  only  telling 
Madame  de  Chavigny  that  our  friend  Coulomb 
has  been  good  enough  to  lend  him  to  me.  Is  he 
not  to  be  trusted?" 

"What  a  villainous  question!"  protested  Ma 
dame  de  Chavigny. 

"I  asked  mademoiselle,"  said  Monsieur  Sara 
now.  He  was  still  smiling,  but  to  Helen  something 
dry  and  hostile  in  his  tone  jarred  with  the  smile. 
He  seemed  to  be  saying :  '  You  have  been  commit 
ting  another  indiscretion,  and  this  time  it  is  more 
serious/ 

She  faced  the  smile  bravely.  "You  should  have 
asked  that  before  borrowing  him.  Will  you  ex 
cuse  me,  please,  grandmamma  —  my  cloak  is  drip 
ping." 

What  did  he  mean  by  borrowing  Jean?  Why 
225 


HELEN 

should  he  not  trust  him?  Madame  de  Chavigny 
explained  at  dinner  that  Jean  had  been  entrusted 
with  despatches  for  Monsieur  Saranow's  colleague 
in  Cairo,  despatches  of  much  importance,  since 
they  were  not  confided  to  the  post.  It  was  an 
excellent  thing  for  him.  He  would  have  two  weeks 
in  Egypt  between  steamers. 

Helen  listened  in  silence.  She  was  eating  noth 
ing.  Dissimulation  was  a  hard  master.  She  was 
evidently  tired.  Nothing  was  so  fatiguing  as 
being  fitted.  Her  grandmother  urged  her  to  re 
tire  early.  As  for  herself  she  would  amuse  herself 
with  solitaire  that  evening  instead  of  dominos  — 
thankful  that  nothing  had  happened! 

As  the  Marseilles  express,  free  from  the  cau 
tioning  lights  of  interlacing  tracks,  was  gathering 
speed  for  its  night  journey,  Hearing's  motor,  the 
rain  dripping  from  its  hood,  crept  under  the  porte- 
cochere  of  the  Imperial. 

Jack,  impatient,  was  at  the  telephone  before 
the  luggaga  was  brought  in. 

"Hullo  —  is  that  you,  Aunt  Tatia  —  yes,  this 
is  Jack  —  We've  just  got  back  —  yes,  the  Im 
perial  —  how  it  rained  —  how 's  Helen  —  not 
there  —  Oh,  at  grandma's,  is  she  —  hope  you're 
not  tired  of  her  —  yes,  we  Ve  had  a  splendid 
time  —  Mr.  Fearing  —  Oh,  he's  all  right  —  yes, 
to-morrow  —  good-night." 

He  turned  an  eager  face  to  Fearing.   "Would  it 

226 


HELEN 


be  too  rough  on  Felix"  —  Felix  was  the  chauffeur 
—  "to  take  me  over?  She's  at  grandma's  —  just 
for  a  minute?" 

"No,  certainly  not,"  laughed  Fearing;  "don't 
waste  that  minute."  And  Jack  disappeared  in  the 
whirlwind  of  the  revolving  door. 

Presently  came  back  Felix,  bringing  a  note 
from  Helen.  She  was  going  to  keep  Jack  for  the 
night.  It  was  a  very  brief  little  note,  evidently 
written  in  haste,  ending  in  the  short,  pathetic 
sentence:  "You  know  there  are  only  a  few  days 
left." 

Only  a  few  days!  Jack's  passionate  devotion 
was  real  enough,  but  masculine.  His  dawning 
world  held  other  emotions.  '  It  means  a  lot  more 
to  her  than  to  him,'  thought  Fearing,  his  mind 
wandering  forward  into  the  future.  Beyond  plac 
ing  Jack  in  one  of  the  best  schools  in  the  country, 
he  had  not  given  much  thought  to  the  future.  He 
owned  a  ranch  in  the  West  where  Jack  could  learn 
to  ride  while  waiting  for  the  autumn  term,  for 
it  might  be  difficult  to  place  him  in  mid-winter. 
The  manager  was  a  careful  man,  with  whom  Jack 
would  be  quite  safe  and  happy.  He  would  try  and 
get  out  himself  for  a  week  in  the  summer  dulness. 
All  this  had  seemed  a  very  simple  matter  in  Nice, 
and  the  Princess  had  taken  charge  of  Helen.  He 
was  glad  she  got  along  so  well  with  her  grand 
mother.  Notwithstanding  all  these  satisfactory 
details,  his  ordered  life  appeared  to  be  getting,  in 

227 


HELEN 


some  not  clearly  understood  way,  more  and  more 
complicated. 

He  did  not  tear  up  the  note  with  his  other  dis 
carded  letters. 

Jack  found  Helen  in  her  room  over  the  court 
yard.  Grandmamma  explained  how  extremely 
wearing  fittings  were  and  that  Helen  had  been 
persuaded  to  retire  early.  He  found  her  as  he 
liked  best  to  find  her,  midway  between  what  he 
termed  'dressed  up'  and  'undressed,'  an  inter 
mediate  state  of  greater  accessibility  and  toler 
ance. 

"Hullo,  little  girl,"  he  said,  coming  in  with  a 
rush  and  flinging  both  arms  about  her. 

"Jack,  dear,"  she  whispered,  half  smothered. 

"Now  don't  begin  to  be  fidgety  because  I'm 
going  away."  He  thought  she  was  looking  pale. 
"Is  n't  it  what  we  have  always  wanted?" 

She  acquiesced.  She  had  been  putting  his  ward 
robe  in  order,  and  he  listened  approvingly  to  the 
enumeration,  less  patiently  to  some  counsels,  but 
solemn  in  promises  to  do  exactly  as  if  she  were 
there. 

"It  won't  be  exactly  as  if  I  were  there,  dear."  j 

"It  will  if  I  promise,  won't  it?" 

She  did  not  reproach  him  for  missing  the  point, 
and  asked  him  about  his  journey  with  Mr.  Fear 
ing.  Oh,  he  had  had  a  glorious  time!  Mr.  Fear 
ing  was  splendid. 

"What  makes  you  like  him  so,  Jack?" 

228 


HELEN 


"You  asked  me  that  question  once  before.  I 
suppose  it's  partly  because  he  likes  me,"  he 
averred,  laying  hold  of  the  profoundest  of  explan 
ations. 

"That  can't  be  the  only  reason." 

"It's  one  of  them.  Why,  you've  got  a  new 
cloak,"  he  exclaimed,  spying  the  garment  over 
the  back  of  a  chair.  "Let  me  see  it  on."  He 
threw  it  over  her.  "You  do  look  stunning  in  it ! " 
and  the  arms  went  round  her  again.  He  felt  the 
slight  shudder  of  revulsion,  and  interpreted  it 
laughingly  after  his  own  fashion.  "I  won't  hurt 
the  fur,  dear.  So  Tr£court  has  gone." 

"Yes." 

"I  like  him  too." 

"Do  you,  dear?   I  am  glad." 

Something  was  knocking  at  the  door  of  her 
heart,  but  Jack's  thoughts  were  far  afield. 

"Mr.  Fearing 's  got  a  ranch  out  West  with  real 
cowboys  on  it.  He 's  going  to  let  me  go  out  there 
till  school  begins.  Do  you  suppose  there  are  any 
real  Indians  left?  You  know  the  buffaloes  have 
gone  long  ago." 

Helen  laughed.  "Oh,  Jack,  what  a  real  boy 
you  are!" 

She  was  glad  when  his  eyes  grew  heavy.  The 
knocking  at  the  door  would  not  be  denied.  He 
made  her  promise  to  come  and  kiss  him  good 
night  when  he  was  in  bed  —  just  for  old  time's 
sake.  She  promised. 

229 


HELEN 


A  few  minutes  later  —  the  rapidity  of  Jack's 
toilets  was  always  a  marvel  —  she  had  closed  his 
door  and,  candle  in  hand,  was  standing  at  her 
grandmother's. 


XXIV 

WHEN  Monsieur  de  Chavigny  was  starving  the 
affections  of  his  consort  in  the  name  of  Principle 
and  Duty,  the  latter  had  resorted  to  that  great 
comforter  of  the  oppressed,  imagination.  With 
its  help  she  fed  herself  surreptitiously.  When,  for 
example,  through  the  window  of  her  coup6  she 
saw  a  nurse  approaching  under  the  trees  of  the 
allee,  she  said  to  herself:  ' There  are  my  grand 
children  taking  the  air  —  how  pretty  they  are,  the 
dears ! '  And  while  the  coup6  was  rolling  on  she 
stopped  it  by  a  trick  she  was  familiar  with  in  order 
to  alight,  to  pat  their  rosy  cheeks  and  say : '  Good- 
morning,  my  children.'  She  lingered,  too,  for  a 
moment's  talk  with  the  nurse,  cautioning  her  to 
exercise  great  care  at  the  crossings,  and  giving  her 
much  necessary  advice  before  resuming  her  place 
in  the  coupe.  In  like  manner,  when  the  bell  rang 
in  the  antechamber,  without  the  least  effort  on  her 
part  she  exclaimed:  'Ah,  it  is  H£lene!  I  know  by 
the  sound.  She  always  rings  in  that  manner.'  She 
played  this  game  most  successfully  at  night,  as  the 
pillow  strained  to  her  heart  could  testify.  Un 
fortunately  it  was  a  game  at  which  she  never  won. 
The  children  in  the  allSe  disappeared  as  do  all 
phantoms;  before  the  bell  had  ceased  tinkling 
Jacques  came  with  the  bill  of  the  fishmonger  over 

231 


HELEN 


the  way,  and  in  the  morning  the  pillow  was  wet 
with  tears. 

At  present  Madame  de  Chavigny  was  taking 
her  revenge.  From  force  of  habit  she  continued 
her  solitary  game  with  Destiny,  but  she  reversed 
her  processes.  When  a  carriage  stopped  before 
the  archway  and  a  light  step  fell  on  the  staircase 
she  said:  'It  is  that  tiresome  lodger  on  the  floor 
above,  what  a  noise  he  makes!'  grumbling  to 
herself  till  Helen  was  actually  in  her  arms.  As  for 
the  pillow,  there  were  still  tears  upon  it,  but  she 
did  not  mind  them. 

When  her  door  opened  on  the  evening  of 
Helen's  fitting,  she  had  barely  recovered  from  her 
anxiety.  She  caught  a  glimpse  in  the  mirror  of  the 
figure  in  robe-de-chambre,  advancing  candle  in 
hand.  It  was  not  because  she  thought  her  safe 
in  bed  that  she  refused  to  see  her.  Imagination, 
long  trained  to  deception,  saw  in  this  figure  a 
thief,  come  for  the  Chavigny  emeralds.  That 
these  emeralds  were  at  that  moment  in  the  Ave 
nue  Montaigne  did  not  matter  in  the  least.  He 
approached  warily,  two  strong  arms  clasped  from 
behind  about  her  neck  held  her  firmly,  she  was 
about  to  be  strangled  — 

"My  child,  how  your  heart  is  beating!" 

"Grandmamma,  I  am  a  wicked,  ungrateful  girl 
—  I  have  deceived  you  —  I  was  at  the  dressmak 
er's  —  I  was  at  the  station,  too  —  I  went  to  say 
good-bye  to  Jean  —  wait,  grandmamma,  don't 

232 


HELEN 


speak  —  I  can't  tell  you  if  you  do  —  I  had  to  go 
—  and  I  'm  glad  —  glad  —  glad  —  we  love  each 
other." 

"Helen,  Helen,"  gasped  the  old  lady,  strug 
gling  with  the  encircling  arms.  Something  in  her 
seemed  to  be  giving  way. 

"Hush,  —  don't  let  us  talk."  She  loosened  her 
hold,  sliding  to  the  floor.  " I'm  too  happy  —  and 
too  miserable." 

The  fugitive  smile  quivered  in  the  corners  of 
the  mouth,  and  the  face  was  buried  in  the  lap 
between  the  knees. 

Miserable!  It  was  pure  happiness  to  lie  there. 
Now  at  last  that  shyest  and  sturdiest  flower  of 
the  human  heart,  which  had  opened  in  the  flaring 
lights  of  the  Lyons  station,  was  in  the  sun. 


XXV 

FEARING  was  in  the  breakfast-room  the  next  morn 
ing  when  Jack  returned.  Jack  had  had  coffee  in 
the  Rue  du  Bac,  but  was  not  proof  against  the 
temptation  of  a  '  real '  breakfast. 

"I  only  wanted  to  hug  her  once,"  Jack  ex 
plained,  "but  she  made  me  stay." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Fearing,  the  curve  of  amuse 
ment  deepening  about  the  mouth.  "Was  she  as 
glad  to  see  you  as  you  were  to  see  her?" 

"I  should  say  so!"  replied  Jack;  "she  almost 
cried.  Helen  is  n't  used  to  crying.  I  suppose  it's 
because  I'm  going  away  so  soon.  She's  got  a 
new  cloak  with  fur  on  it,"  he  added,  giving  his 
attention  to  the  sole — for  a  page  had  just  brought 
a  telegram. 

Fearing  opened  it  carelessly,  till  he  saw  the  date: 
Dijon,  midnight.  Who  was  telegraphing  him  from 
Dijon?  He  knew  no  one  there.  He  glanced  first 
at  the  signature  —  'Madge.' 

Ask  the  person  you  said  you  liked  immensely  who 
the  Phyllis  in  the  crimson  cloak  was  in  the  arms  of 
Corydon  at  the  station  to-night  when  the  express  left 
Paris  for  Marseilles.  Hope  you  will  find  Broad  Street 
tranquillizing.  MADGE. 

The  meaning,  though  plain,  sank  slowly  into 
consciousness.  Plainer  still  was  the  intent,  and 

234 


HELEN 


as  he  re-read  the  message  the  words  became 
blurred  and  the  face  of  Madge,  the  eyes  hard  with 
anger,  stared  at  him  from  the  blue-tinted  paper. 

'What  a  damnable  lie!'  he  muttered,  swept  by 
a  sudden  gust  of  fury.  But  no!  no  conceivable 
malice  was  equal  to  such  infernal  invention.  It 
was  a  mistake  —  of  course  it  was  a  mistake ! 

Mechanically  he  folded  the  telegram  and  put 
it  away  in  his  pocket-book.  Jack  watched  him 
thoughtfully.  He  had  become  accustomed  to  tele 
grams  during  the  past  week,  but  he  set  this  one 
down  as  of  exceptional  importance. 

"So  Helen  has  a  new  cloak." 

"Yes,  a  red  one,  with  black  fur  on  the  collar  and 
all  round  the  edges.  It's  awfully  becoming."  He 
stopped.  Clearly,  thinking  was  going  on,  and  he 
paid  it  the  tribute  of  silence. 

"Jack,  I  am  to  be  busy  to-day.  You  can  have 
the  car  if  you  want  it." 

Jack's  eyes  followed  him  wonderingly  as  he  left 
the  room.  Probably,  he  concluded,  he's  got  a  lot 
of  letters  to  answer.  He  was  always  writing  let 
ters,  and  there  was  a  whole  bundle  of  them  waiting 
for  him  last  night.  The  rain  was  over.  The  first 
thing  to  do  with  liberty  was  to  hunt  up  Felix  and 
think  of  something  to  do  with  Helen. 

At  the  door  Fearing  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was 
early  yet  for  Tatia,  but  waiting,  groping  about  in 
the  blackness  of  vain  imaginings,  was  impossible. 

At  the  Avenue  Montaigne  the  porter  was  still 

235 


HELEN 


in  his  blue  apron.  On  the  approach  of  the  visitor 
he  darted  into  the  lodge  with  his  feather  duster, 
to  reappear  in  braided  coat. 

No,  Monsieur  le  Prince  had  not  yet  gone  to  the 
Chancellerie. 

"Take  up  my  card,"  said  Fearing  shortly. 

Dimitri  was  finishing  breakfast,  nothing  on  his 
face  but  the  usual  smile  of  cordial  greeting.  He 
had  heard  last  night  of  their  arrival.  Jack  had 
telephoned.  Had  they  had  a  good  run?  Then 
Fearing  burst  out  with :  — 

"Where's  Helen?" 

"Did  n't  Jack  tell  you?  At  Madame  de  Cha- 
vigny's." 

"Yes,  but  what  for?" 

Dimitri  looked  puzzled.  "Oh,  a  little  change,  a 
little  rest."  Then  their  eyes  met  and  he  added, 
"There's  been  no  quarrel." 

"Quarrel!  Good  God,  man!  One  doesn't 
quarrel  with  Helen!" 

Dimitri  smiled  pleasantly.  "No,  nor  with 
Tatia.  But  Tatia's  a  trifle  hasty  at  times.  She 
touched  the  wrong  string,  and  it  snapped." 

"String!   What  string?" 

"Quite  against  my  advice.  You  know  Tatia 
does  n't  take  very  kindly  to  advice." 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  explain  yourself, 
Dimitri?  I  am  asking  you  instead  of  Helen.  If 
you  won't  clear  up  this  nightmare,  she  will." 

The  blank  look  of  unfeigned  surprise  on  Dimi- 
236 


HELEN 


tri's  face  was  one  of  genuine  amazement.  The  man 
speaking  was  not  the  man  he  knew. 

"My  dear  fellow,  there's  no  nightmare,  and 
there 's  nothing  for  men  to  get  excited  over.  Helen 
was  rushing  about  town  in  your  car  —  all  very 
well  while  Jack  was  here  to  go  with  her.  Tatia 
undertook  to  suggest  — " 

"Oh,  is  that  all."    He  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"That's  all,"  assented  Dimitri;  unaware  of 
Tatia's  straying  from  first  intentions.  "Helen 
sent  up  a  note  yesterday  with  the  breakfast-tray 
saying  she  was  going  to  spend  the  night  with 
Madame  de  Chavigny.  It  knocked  up  Tatia  a  bit, 
naturally." 

Fearing  put  on  his  hat.  There  was  evidently 
nothing  to  be  learned  from  Dimitri.  At  the  door 
he  turned,  flinging  back  the  words  with  sudden 
energy. 

"Tell  Tatia  to  go  and  bring  her  back  —  have 
the  splinter  out!  They're  acting  like  children." 

"Well,  they  are  children,"  said  Dimitri. 

Something  of  Dimitri 's  optimism  followed  Fear 
ing  into  the  street.  It  must  be  a  mistake,  a  drop  of 
venom  from  a  woman's  tongue  —  a  woman  who 
sheltered  herself  behind  her  womanhood.  The 
trees  in  the  Avenue  after  the  rain  glistened  in  the 
sun,  and  a  vision  of  freshness  and  purity  came  to 
him  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  relief.  One 
look  into  her  face  would  clear  the  poison  from  his 
soul  as  the  sun  and  rain  had  made  the  city  clean. 

237 


HELEN 


Standing  by  the  parapet  at  the  end  of  the  Av 
enue,  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  he  saw  something 
else.  That  venomous  little  woman  whom  he  had 
put  off  with  banter  was  right.  His  very  resent 
ment  of  her  intrusive  familiarity  was  proof 
enough,  if  he  needed  proof  —  had  been  proof 
enough  for  her.  What  was  he  to  do?  Go  and  tell 
her.  Of  course.  He  took  the  telegram  from  his 
pocket,  tore  it  into  bits,  and  threw  them  into  the 
river.  He  watched  them,  flecks  dancing  in  the 
sunlight,  but  their  message  rankled  in  his  heart, 
sombre,  incomprehensible,  monstrous.  He  re 
called  every  moment  they  had  shared  together 
since  their  first  meeting  at  the  gate  of  the  villa, 
every  word  she  had  uttered.  And  all  that  time  — 
Jack  had  been  only  a  subterfuge!  Go  and  tell  her, 
of  course.  Yet  he  found  himself  walking  errati 
cally  along  the  quay,  Madge's  miserable  lie  stab 
bing  him  like  a  knife  at  every  step.  For  it  was  a 
lie,  pure  invention,  malice.  Go  and  tell  her,  of 
course. 

At  the  doorway  in  the  Rue  du  Bac  both  cars 
were  waiting.  Felix  and  Peter.  Jack  had  lost  no 
time.  The  ugly  temptation  to  ask  Peter  where  he 
had  been  the  night  before  flashed  through  his 
mind  and  was  flung  aside  —  into  the  gutter  where 
it  belonged  with  the  mud  and  refuse  of  the  street 
trickling  to  the  sewer. 

The  subdued  light  and  silence  of  Madame  de 
Chavigny's  salon  were  like  a  cool  draught  of  water. 

238 


HELEN 


From  the  central  space  of  the  long  side  wall  the 
portrait  of  the  Count,  the  star  on  his  breast, 
looked  down  upon  him  with  the  satisfied  air  of 
conscious  rectitude.  He  moved  about  restlessly, 
waiting,  listening  for  the  coming  footstep,  to  stop 
before  a  miniature  framed  in  ebony  on  the  table 
by  the  armchair  —  Helene.  The  same  firm  little 
mouth,  quick  to  smile  or  to  quiver,  the  same  slight 
tilt  to  the  nose  softening  the  expression  of  pride  — 
Helen  at  the  gate  of  the  Villa  Fontana.  If  the 
telegram  were  a  lie,  to  put  it  under  those  eyes 
would  be  like  fouling  a  mountain  spring.  If  it 
were  true  —  the  humor  of  it  brought  a  bitter 
laugh.  From  the  face  in  the  ebony  frame  he 
turned  to  the  one  on  the  wall.  Nothing  of  hers 
there  —  nothing  —  and  suddenly  he  heard  the 
Princess  Ghica  saying:  "Come  to  the  point  —  a 
woman's  face  counts  for  something."  What  did 
it  count  for,  for  him,  that  it  had  not  counted 
then? 

"Mr.  Fearing." 

She  had  come  in  so  quietly  that  the  voice  star 
tled  him,  miniature  in  hand.  She  was  dressed  for 
the  street,  in  the  crimson  cloak  with  the  black 
fur  Jack  had  declared  so  becoming  —  otherwise 
exactly  the  Helen  he  had  left.  What  else  in  Heav 
en's  name  had  he  expected!  Merely  to  look  at 
her  was  answer  enough. 

"It's  so  like  you,"  he  said,  putting  down  the 
miniature,  "I  hardly  know  which  to  speak  to." 

239 


HELEN 


"I  love  to  hear  any  one  say  that.  We  were 
going  out,  Jack  and  I.  I  am  sorry." 

"That's  all  right.  I  might  have  brought  him 
back  a  day  earlier,  but  the  rain  — " 

"  It  does  n't  matter.  We  decided  that  once  for 
all." 

"Where  are  you  going?  "  he  asked,  as  Jack  came 
in. 

"  I  have  left  that  to  Jack.  He  likes  to  steer  my 
ship.  Not  far.  I  am  going  first  to  Tatia's." 

"I  am  glad  of  that." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  "Have  you  seen 
her?" 

"No." 

"  I  have  hurt  her  feelings.  I  am  going  to  make 
amends." 

"That's  the  right  thing  to  do." 

She  gave  him  another  queer  little  look  which 
seemed  to  say:  'You  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about.'  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  some 
thing.  You  said  the  other  day  I  might  cable  you 
if  I  needed  to.  Will  you  promise  to  cable  me  if 
Jack  needs  me?" 

"Of  course  I  will.   You  can  depend  upon  that." 

"I  do.  I  shall  miss  you  both.  It's  day  after 
to-morrow,  is  n't  it?" 

It's  never  if  you  say  so  —  the  words  were  on 
his  lips  —  but  he  could  not  speak  before  Jack. 

"Yes,  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Have  you  got  your  purse,  Helen?"  whispered 

240 


HELEN 


Jack  as  they  passed  out  under  the  archway;  "it's 
our  last  spree  together,  you  know." 

With  the  purse  a  little  slip  of  yellow  paste 
board  came  from  the  deep  pocket  and,  fluttering 
idly,  caught  in  the  fur  trimming  of  her  cloak. 

"  It's  nothing,"  she  said  to  Fearing,  shaking  it 
free  —  "Good-bye"  —  and  Peter  threw  in  the 
clutch. 

Fearing  was  staring  at  the  yellow  slip  of  paste 
board  at  his  feet  —  the  entrance  pass  for  visitors 
to  the  platform  of  the  Gare  de  Lyon. 


XXVI 

WHEN  in  trouble  men  resort  to  various  harbors  of 
refuge.  Fearing* s  refuge  was  the  desk  in  Broad 
Street.  Its  nearest  substitute  in  Paris  was  closed. 
All  the  preparations  for  his  departure  were  made. 
His  passage  had  been  secured,  a  compartment  re 
served  in  the  Calais  express,  Helen's  affairs  at 
Murray  Brothers'  attended  to.  There  was  liter 
ally  nothing  remaining  to  do.  The  busy  day  he 
had  spoken  of  to  Jack  vanished  when  the  motor 
turned  the  corner  at  the  foot  of  the  street.  Tatia 
had  begged  him  to  lunch  with  her  and  Dimitri, 
informally,  a  farewell  luncheon,  and  he  had  ac 
cepted  —  but  that  was  three  hours  away. 

At  one  o'clock  he  was  in  the  Avenue  Montaigne, 
the  three  hours  gone.  He  could  not  have  told  what 
he  had  been  thinking  in  the  interval,  hard  think 
ing  with  no  progress  or  results.  But  he  could  have 
described  minutely  what  he  had  done.  He  had 
dismissed  Felix.  Then  there  was  a  steamer  which 
fussed  and  fumed  along  the  brown  river,  stopping 
at  innumerable  landings.  The  wind  on  deck  was 
cold  and  piercing.  A  man  in  a  blue  cotton  blouse 
had  talked  to  him  volubly.  There  was  a  palace, 
more  or  less  in  ruins,  the  gardens  converted  to 
public  use  —  desolate  in  winter.  Then  the 
steamer  again  and  a  terrace  with  a  wide  view, 

242 


HELEN 


deserted,  wind-swept  —  pictures  on  a  museum 
wall  of  cave  men  and  women,  one  woman  almost 
naked,  with  long,  dishevelled  hair  and  timid,  ap 
pealing  eyes  —  and  cases  full  of  flint  implements 
—  and  a  forest,  leafless  —  one  old  man,  bent 
over,  was  gathering  fagots  —  then  the  steamer 
again,  and  now  the  porter  in  his  braided  coat  — 
pictures  stamped  as  it  were  while  he  was  absent 
on  the  plates  of  memory. 

Dimitri  welcomed  him  cordially,  but  was  more 
taciturn  than  usual.  No  reference  was  made  to 
his  earlier  visit.  They  talked  about  nothing. 
Tatia  would  be  in  directly.  He,  Dimitri,  had  just 
got  back  from  the  Embassy.  Would  he  have  a  bit 
of  caviar  and  a  glass  of  vodka  while  waiting  for 
Tatia?  Then  Tatia  burst  in  like  a  tornado,  herself 
bursting  with  information. 

"  Dimitri,  Helen  has  been  here  —  she  and  Tr£- 
court  —  it  is  all  settled  — "  Then  she  stopped 
short,  catching  sight  of  Fearing  sitting  apart  in 
the  embrasure  of  the  window.  On  his  face  she 
read  what  every  woman  reads  best,  and  her  own 
went  white.  The  woman  of  the  Siberian  proverb 
had  smiled  upon  him  and  he  was  undone. 

Fearing  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Run,  Dimitri, 
quick  —  some  water  —  the  Princess  is  fainting." 

Dimitri  knew  that  Tatia  never  fainted.  Never 
theless  he  ran. 

"Oh,  David!"  she  moaned.  The  tears  were 
running  down  her  cheeks. 

243 


HELEN 


"That's  very  nice  of  you,  Tatia,"  he  said,  tak 
ing  her  hands  and  covering  them  in  his  own;  "no 
body's  called  me  that  since  I  was  a  boy.  But  you 
are  not  fainting  properly  enough  for  Dimitri." 

She  straightened  up.  "You  iron  man!"  she 
whispered. 

"That's  what  I  thought  myself.  I  told  you  once 
you  were  a  terrible  eavesdropper."  He  pressed 
her  hand  for  silence  as  Dimitri  came  in.  "It's 
nothing,"  he  said;  "when  a  woman  can  cry  she's 
all  right.  I  '11  run  in  again.  If  not,  you  will  all  be 
at  the  station  Saturday." 

Tatia  was  staring  into  Dimitri's  face. 

"I  knew  it  this  morning,"  he  said. 

Walking  down  the  Avenue  slowly,  Fearing  tore 
a  yellow  slip  of  pasteboard  in  pieces  and  threw 
them  in  the  gutter.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to 
think  she  had  ever  had  anything  to  conceal !  The 
bitter  shame  of  feeling  that  she  had  ever  been  in 
need  of  reinstatement!  Still,  that  thought  was  up 
permost,  that  she  was  back  again  on  her  pedestal 
—  for  him  a  sort  of  plank  to  cling  to  in  shipwreck. 

Down  the  Avenue,  across  the  Place,  and  into 
the  Rue  Royale,  without  any  conscious  sense  of 
direction,  he  found  himself  standing  before  a 
window  brilliant  with  jewels,  as  once  he  had 
stood  before  the  vitrine  in  the  Majestic  at  Nice  — 
long  ago! 

After  a  moment  he  went  in. 
244 


HELEN 


"Show  me  something  in  pearls,"  he  said. 

The  head  of  the  house  came  forward  instantly. 
Like  the  rest  of  the  world  he  saw  that  he  had  to 
do  with  a  man  who  was  serious. 

"Is  that  the  best  you  have?'*  asked  Fearing, 
looking  over  the  display  set  before  him. 

"Ah,  if  monsieur  desires  something  really 
good"  —  the  doors  of  the  safe  swung  aside  — 
"something  unique,  which  cannot  be  equalled  in 
Paris  —  something  we  have  been  years  in  collect 
ing  —  "  It  was  impossible  to  say  whether  this 
impassive  customer  was  dazzled  or  indifferent. 
"Naturally,  one  cannot  have  a  thing  like  this  — 
see  how  perfectly  they  are  matched  — " 

"I  was  n't  thinking  of  the  price,"  said  Fearing 
dryly. 

The  shoulders  lifted. 

Fearing  walked  to  the  door,  then  came  back. 
" Do  you  know  Murray  —  bankers?" 

"Certainly,  monsieur." 

"Well,  have  them  insured  and  send  them  round 
to  Murray.  He  will  have  instructions." 

In  the  street  once  more  his  step  quickened.  If 
he  had  wronged  her  in  thought  —  well,  this  was 
the  best  he  could  do  in  atonement. 

At  his  hotel  he  went  into  the  writing- room,  sat 
thoughtfully  for  a  moment,  then  took  up  a  pen. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Stuart,  — 

I  leave  Saturday  for  Broad  Street.  Why  do  you 
telegraph  in  cipher  when  every  one  has  the  code?  For 


245 


HELEN 


a  usually  well-informed  person  you  are  decidedly  be 
hind  the  times.  So  I  must  help  you  out.  Miss  Lee's 
engagement  to  Jean  de  Trecourt  will  undoubtedly  be 
announced  soon  in  the  proper  manner.  Of  course  we 
are  all  pleased. 

After  addressing  the  envelope  he  tore  it  up. 
"No,"  he  said,  " that's  worth  a  cable."  And  he 
took  his  letter-sheet  to  the  telegraph  office. 


XXVII 

"IF  agreeable  to  you  we  will  lower  this  green 
shade.  One  must  sleep  when  one  can." 

The  voice  seemed  to  come  from  some  immeas 
urable  distance.  Opening  his  eyes,  Jean  saw  his 
fellow  passenger  in  the  far  corner  of  the  compart 
ment,  who,  after  shielding  his  eyes  from  the 
glare  of  the  light  overhead,  had  spread  his  travel 
ling-rug  over  his  knees,  pulled  the  black  skull-cap 
firmly  down  about  his  ears,  and  was  composing 
himself  for  sleep. 

Clinging  with  all  the  strength  of  his  will  and 
memory  to  that  moment  of  rapture  and  misery 
into  which  all  life  was  concentrated,  he  hated  this 
placid  man  who  could  so  smile  and  sleep. 

To  sleep !  To  be  carried  off  like  a  bundle  of  straw 
by  this  brutal  mass  of  iron  and  steel,  not  to  know 
what  this  moment  she  was  thinking,  doing,  suffer 
ing!  What  were  honors,  mission,  career,  while 
those  consenting  lips  were  fresh  upon  his  own  with 
a  reality  to  which  memory  could  add  nothing! 
How  could  he  have  been  so  blind,  loitering  like  a 
timid  child  at  the  wide-open  gates  of  Paradise! 
Child  he  had  been,  child  he  would  be  no  longer. 
Struggling  with  the  tumult  of  his  heart,  out  of  the 
chaos  one  purpose  rose  irresistible,  triumphant. 
At  the  first  stop  he  would  leave  the  train  and 

247 


HELEN 


return  to  Paris.  Should  he  hesitate  to  throw  to 
the  winds  the  less  dear  for  the  dearer? 

Opening  the  door  into  the  corridor,  he  called  the 
guard  and  gave  the  necessary  instructions  for  the 
disposition  of  his  luggage. 

"Monsieur!"  It  was  the  wearer  of  the  black 
skull-cap,  whose  slumber  he  was  disturbing. 
"Have  I  by  any  chance  the  good  fortune  to 
address  Monsieur  Jean  de  Tr£court?" 

"That  is  my  name." 

"Capital!"  smiled  his  companion  still  more 
affably  and  ignoring  the  curt  tone  of  the  reply; 
"you  save  me  all  further  trouble.  I  was  counting 
upon  the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance 
in  Marseilles  when  by  good  luck  I  observed  those 
initials  on  your  portmanteau.  You  are  sailing 
to-morrow  night  on  the  Toulon  for  Corea." 

"You  are  well  informed,"  said  Jean,  making  no 
effort  to  conceal  his  annoyance. 

"That  is  my  business,"  said  the  stranger  in  his 
soft  voice  of  even  politeness,  "but  to  avoid  all 
possibility  of  error,  since  initials  are  often  de 
ceptive  —  " 

"This  is  too  much!"  cried  Jean,  exasperated 
beyond  control;  "one  would  say  I  was  a  criminal 
under  investigation." 

"Pardon  me;  if  I  had  my  doubts  I  have  them 
no  longer.  Your  just  anger  dissipates  them.  But 
in  matters  of  importance  one  must  proceed  with 
caution.  Once,  when  a  young  man  like  yourself, 

248 


HELEN 


I  made  a  mistake  which  cost  me  dear  and  which  I 
cannot  afford  to  repeat."  He  was  unlocking  the 
leather  case  on  his  knees.  "Permit  me  to  intro 
duce  myself.  I  am  the  official  bearer  of  despatches 
at  the  Ministry,  a  humble  colleague,  on  my  way  to 
Morocco,  and  I  have  here  for  you"  —  taking  a 
portfolio  from  the  box  and  extracting  two  en- 
veopes  —  ''documents  destined  for  the  Russian 
Agency  in  Cairo." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  Cairo,"  cried  Jean, 
whose  irritation  was  getting  out  of  bounds. 

"Ah,  as  to  that  I  have  nothing  to  say.  In  con 
fiding  to  you  these  documents  my  responsibility 
is  ended.  Here  they  are  —  verify  them,  I  beg  of 
you,  at  your  leisure.  This  one"  —  he  scrutinized 
the  address  carefully — "with  the  seal  of  the 
Russian  Embassy,  for  the  Agency  in  Cairo,  and 
this  one,  for  you  personally,  from  the  Ministry." 

Standing  under  the  light,  Jean  read  the  super 
scriptions.  It  was  quite  true,  they  were  as  stated. 
Impatiently  he  broke  the  seal  of  the  smaller  en 
velope.  Glancing  down  to  the  signature,  his  eye 
caught  the  closing  sentence :  — 

These  papers,  of  the  highest  importance,  you  will 
deliver  in  person,  proceeding  thereafter  without  delay 
by  the  first  steamer  to  your  post. 

Below,  in  the  scrawling  hand  of  one  for  whom 
a  signature  was  a  tiresome  formality,  was  the 
word:  "Coulomb." 

With  that  word  came  the  realization  that  he 

249 


HELEN 


was  no  longer  free.  Then,  faster  than  the  train 
speeding  through  the  night,  there  rushed  through 
his  brain  confused  thoughts,  plans  discarded  as 
soon  as  formed,  like  the  objects  in  the  phantom 
landscape  hurrying  by  the  window,  and  back  of 
all  the  passionate  desire  to  hold  her  again  as  he 
had  held  her  for  one  fleeting  moment  forced  its 
way  .through  the  tumult  of  indecision  regardless 
of  consequences.  With  that  desire  there  was  no 
arguing,  no  reasoning.  What  should  he  say  to  her? 
That  he  loved  her?  Just  that?  Was  that  enough? 
He  would  have  to  be  truthful  —  anything  less  than 
absolute  candor  was  impossible,  unthinkable.  He 
would  have  to  persuade  her  that  nothing  but  love 
counted.  Would  that  satisfy  her?  She  had  said 
he  was  a  child,  and  like  a  child  he  was  ready  to 
throw  everything  away. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  "as  you  say,  it  is  from 
Coulomb." 

"So!  it  is  from  Coulomb  himself?  and  he  does 
not  consult  you!  It  is  a  habit  they  have  at  the 
Ministry.  But  console  yourself.  You  do  Cairo 
injustice.  It  is  a  most  interesting  city  and  boasts 
of  many  agreeable  diversions.  I  would  willingly 
pass  a  week  there  myself.  It  would  be  absurd  to 
suppose  that  all  the  charms  of  Egypt  perished  with 
the  asp  of  Cleopatra."  Furious  at  this  garrulity, 
Jean  flashed  a  look  of  contempt  at  his  tormentor 
who  was  offering  him  his  stylographic  pen.  "  Par 
don  me  —  a  mere  formality  —  here  is  my  receipt. 

250 


HELEN 


Thanks.  And  now  that  we  have  discharged  our 
duty"  —  settling  himself  once  more  in  his  corner 
—  "let  us  sleep.  For,  evidently,  one  must  sleep 
when  one  can.  At  your  service,  Monsieur  de  Tre- 
court.  Good-night." 

Jean  sank  into  his  seat.  No  longer  free!  The 
words  repeated  themselves  incessantly,  mechani 
cally.  The  little  old  man  in  the  corner  in  discharg 
ing  his  responsibility  had  bound  him  fast  with 
the  bonds  of  duty  and  honor.  To-morrow  he 
would  be  in  Marseilles  —  in  four  days  Cairo  — 
but  afterwards  — 

On  the  shelf  by  the  window,  beside  the  hideous 
ash-tray,  were  hotel  circulars,  time-tables,  tele 
gram  blanks  —  these  would  do!  The  breathing 
of  his  companion  had  become  regular  and  deep. 
He  raised  cautiously  the  green  shade  on  the  side 
nearest  him,  and  feverishly,  against  the  tremor 
of  the  train  which  conspired  with  the  trouble  of 
his  brain,  he  began  to  write  —  words,  words, 
words,  vessels  into  which  he  poured  out  his  heart, 
yet  which  remained  ever  empty. 

At  Dijon,  while  Mrs.  Stuart  was  feeing  the 
guard  to  deliver  her  telegram,  he  had  barely  time 
to  obtain  an  envelope  and  drop  it  in  the  letter 
box  of  the  station. 

Addressed  to  the  Avenue  Montaigne,  it  fell 
into  Dimitri's  hands.  Observing  the  pencilled 
superscription  and  postmark,  he  smiled,  and  sent 
it  over  by  special  messenger  to  the  Rue  du  Bac. 

251 


HELEN 


Helen  had  just  returned  from  her  drive  with 
Jack.  Confidently  expected  and  eagerly  awaited 
as  this  letter  was,  now  that  it  had  come  she  could 
only  hold  it  tight  in  her  hand,  sitting  by  the  win 
dow  where,  the  night  before,  she  had  looked  out 
into  the  driving  rain  listening  irresolute  to  the 
voice  that  called  her,  and  yielded.  Once  more  she 
heard  that  voice  again,  a  bolder  challenge.  There 
was  no  need  to  read.  She  knew  beforehand  all 
he  would  say,  for  she  knew  him.  He  would  come 
back,  abandon  everything,  sacrifice  his  career; 
and  every  passionate  appeal,  against  which  she 
would  have  to  struggle,  she  would  love  the  best, 
in  her  own  longing  to  be  sheltered  as  well  as  to 
shelter,  to  be  held  as  well  as  to  hold,  to  cease  strug 
gling,  shut  her  eyes  in  surrender  and  let  the  flood 
have  its  way.  Once  she  had  thought  she  knew  the 
meaning  of  separation  —  Jack,  too,  in  his  way. 
Yet  neither  had  hesitated.  This  was  different, 
the  rending  of  flesh  and  spirit.  Corea!  How  far 
away  it  was!  And  Uncle  Hector's  money,  what 
else  was  it  for!  One  day,  at  Tatia's,  she  had  over 
heard  Monsieur  Saranow  saying:  "Love  is  like 
a  young  animal,  charming  only  in  youth."  What 
if  life  should  one  day  deny  her  all  she  now  longed 
for  so  passionately  —  all  within  her  grasp !  She 
bent  her  head  over  her  desk  on  Jean's  pages, 
weeping,  silently,  repeating  to  herself:  'It  is  not 
true,  it  is  not  true.' 

She  took  up  Jean's  letter  again.    Suddenly, 

252 


HELEN 


with  the  last  page,  came  the  realization  that  she 
must  stop  thinking,  dreaming,  instantly.  She 
thrust  the  pages  out  of  sight  in  her  desk  and  be 
gan  to  write,  in  desperate  haste,  armed  with  that 
weapon  of  sacrificial  love  forged  in  the  long  years 
of  her  mothering  of  Jack. 

I  have  written  you  a  thousand  times  since  —  always 
to  the  same  end.  No,  I  do  not  reproach  you  for  a  single 
word,  for  anything  you  have  done.  You  forbid  me  to 
treat  you  any  longer  as  a  child.  How  can  you  remember 
—  and  think  so !  How  can  you  think  that  I  disparage 
that  very  quality  in  you  which  attracts  me,  and  alas ! 
fills  me  with  alarm.  Reproach  me  rather  for  having  in 
abandoning  to  you  all  that  is  most  precious  to  me 
risked  all  that  is  most  precious  to  you.  Let  us,  as  you 
once  said  tome,  think  and  speak  with  the  candor  of  chil 
dren,  but  let  us  not  act  with  their  indifference  to  con 
sequences.  You  are  going  to  Egypt.  I  knew  it,  for 
Monsieur  Saranow  was  here  when  I  returned,  and  he 
told  me.  Afterwards,  you  would  come  back,  abandon 
for  my  sake  your  present  prospects.  You  undertake  to 
reconcile  your  father  to  this  course.  Ah,  Jean  dear,  it 
is  I  whom  you  seek  to  reconcile.  Think  how  many 
things  must  combine  to  form  happiness!  If  my  heart 
tells  me  love  were  enough  for  mine,  reason  tells  me  it  is 
not  sufficient  for  yours.  No,  no,  you  are  not  a  child, 
and  without  that  success  necessary  to  the  man  happi 
ness  would  be  only  a  phantom.  Do  not  think  I  hold 
lightly  the  sacrifices  you  wish  to  make.  At  the  same 
moment  that  I  resist  you  I  yield  to  you.  It  breaks  my 
heart  to  leave  at  my  feet  the  dear  gifts  you  place 
there.  Is  it  love  that  leaves  them  there,  or  this  tortur 
ing  tyranny  of  reason  that  warns  me  not  to  stand  in 
your  way  —  I  who  ask  only  to  stand  at  your  side? 

253 


HELEN 


Both  —  for  if  there  is  no  love  in  reason  there  is  reason 
in  love. 

I  am  going  to  bare  my  whole  heart  to  you.  Why 
should  I  recoil  from  saying  to  you  with  this  pen  what 
I  should  say  if  you  were  here?  Till  you  came  it  knew 
but  one  love  —  so  different  and  yet  so  like  what  I  have 
given  you  —  my  brother.  He  is  about  to  leave  me.  If 
in  his  interest  I  have  the  courage  to  let  him  go  from  my 
arms,  shall  I  be  more  selfish  with  what  is  dearer  to  me ! 
Who  will  reconcile  you  if  your  career  is  broken?  I! 
Yes,  if  Heaven  should  break  you  in  body  or  spirit  and 
that  were  permitted  me.  But  what  shall  I  avail  if  dis 
appointment  comes  through  love  itself,  through  me! 
Give  yourself  to  me,  dear  Jean,  as  I  gave  myself  to 
you  once  and  forever,  and  do  not  believe  that  in  yield 
ing  to  reason  I  withhold  anything  from  you. 

I  ask  myself  if  you  were  here  should  I  have  the 
courage  to  say  this  to  you.  Do  not  ask  me.  What  is  a 
little  patience,  a  few  years  even  if  need  be,  to  us  who 
have  all  life  to  consecrate  to  each  other?  Answer  me 
with  your  own  courage,  as  I  have  answered  you,  as  I 
speak  to  you  now,  with  the  best  that  is  in  your  heart. 

HELEN. 

Dear  —  you  may  write  to  me  —  about  the  Corean 
lions. 

She  wrote  the  last  words  with  the  ghost  of  a 
smile,  and  not  daring  to  re-read,  sealed  the  enve 
lope  quickly,  wrote  the  address  he  had  given,  and 
posted  her  letter  with  her  own  hand. 


XXVIII 

THE  day  had  proved  one  to  be  long  remembered 
in  Jacques's  calendar,  the  clockwork  of  his  regular 
duties  having  been  thrown  out  of  gear  by  a  va 
riety  of  unusual  occurrences.  To  begin  with, ^before 
he  had  opened  the  salon  shutters  or  changed  the 
water  in  the  vases  Madame  la  Comtesse  had  sent 
him  to  the  stand  on  the  Quai  Voltaire  for  a  car 
riage,  and  had  departed  wearing  her  best  mantle, 
the  mantle  reserved  for  occasions  of  ceremony, 
without  vouchsafing  a  word  of  explanation  —  an 
unheard-of  proceeding.  Never  before  had  she 
failed  to  honor  him  with  her  confidence.  Where 
was  she  going?  To  mass?  She  had  no  prayer- 
book.  To  market?  In  the  mantle?  —  impossible. 
She  had  not  been  to  market  since  —  when  was  it 
madame  last  went  to  market?  He  was  wrestling 
with  this  problem  when  the  fiacre  rumbled  out  of 
sight. 

Then  the  American  gentleman,  held  in  much 
awe  as  the  guardian  of  wealth,  had  called,  and 
with  Master  Jack  and  mademoiselle  had  departed, 
also  without  leaving  any  orders.  At  what  hour 
was  dinner  to  be  served?  Norn  de  Dieu!  It  was 
humiliating  to  be  so  ignored.  That  madame 
should  remain  away  overnight  was  incredible. 
Such  a  thing  had  not  happened  since  the  death 

255 


HELEN 


of  monsieur.  Where,  moreover?  —  and  without 
maid  or  portmanteau!  Yet  at  nightfall  she  was 
still  abroad.  Under  the  archway,  searching  both 
ends  of  the  street  and  peering  into  every  passing 
carriage,  he  was  in  despair. 

Meanwhile,  Madame  de  Chavigny,  returning 
from  Avrincourt,  was  observing  with  satisfaction 
from  the  car  window  the  first  faint  signs  of  spring 
in  the  orchards,  and  resolving  to  hasten  her  de 
parture  to  the  country.  She  was  further  enjoying 
the  fact  that  she  had  accomplished  her  mission 
with  tact  and  delicacy;  that  she  had,  as  she 
phrased  it,  "regularized"  the  situation,  while  re 
maining  loyal  to  Helen's  confidences.  To  be  the 
sole  possessor  of  these  confidences  was  like  manna 
in  the  wilderness  to  her.  It  pleased  her  enor 
mously  to  have  the  conduct  of  affairs  in  her  own 
hands.  She  had  lost  no  time  in  taking  command, 
having  determined  promptly  upon  the  necessary 
measures  even  before  Helen  had  finished  her  con 
fession.  These  measures  were  so  eminently  proper 
that  she  quite  forgot  at  how  late  a  stage  her  assist 
ance  had  been  invoked. 

On  her  way  to  Avrincourt  she  gave  much 
thought  to  what  she  should  say,  also  to  what  she 
should  withhold,  entreating  the  Recording  Angel 
to  deal  leniently  with  any  venial  suppression  of  the 
truth.  Much  as  it  had  to  do  with  the  matter,  the 
sudden  efflorescence  of  love  in  the  Lyons  station 
must  be  ignored.  It  was  quite  unnecessary  to 

256 


HELEN 


spread  such  a  detail  before  profane  eyes.  Her  own 
pride  as  well  as  Helen's  forbade  it.  Confidences 
of  this  kind  were  for  the  confessional  of  the  good 
God. 

There  were  other  prudential  considerations 
also,  not  to  be  sacrificed  to  avarice  by  inoppor 
tune  disclosures.  It  were  far  better  to  put  all 
questions  of  sentiment  wholly  aside.  Motives  of 
expediency,  the  duty  of  parents  who  look  into  the 
future,  were  sufficient  for  her  purpose  without 
dragging  in  passion.  Indeed,  it  would  be  impossi 
ble  to  reconcile  passion  with  Jean's  silent  depar 
ture.  She  thought  of  H61ene.  Ah,  what  things 
went  on  under  one's  very  eyes! 

The  certainty  that  the  Marquis  de  Trecourt, 
whom  early  prodigalities  had  reduced  to  the  neces 
sity  of  making  the  most  of  a  small  estate  in  the 
country,  would  not  fail  to  see  the  alluring  side 
of  her  proposition,  gave  her  also  much  concern 
while  watching  the  first  flush  of  spring  on  the 
lindens. 

At  the  very  outset  of  her  interview  it  became 
clear  that  the  Marquis  was  not  oblivious  to  this 
consideration.  Nor  was  he  slow  to  enquire  why 
Madame  la  Comtesse  had  delayed  her  visit  till 
after  Jean's  departure  for  Corea.  Her  answer  was 
ready.  Jean's  deportment  had  been  quite  cor 
rect  and  in  this  respect  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
It  was  at  this  point  that  she  offered  up  her  peti 
tion  to  the  Recording  Angel. 

257 


HELEN 


Visibly  affected  both  by  Jean's  correct  conduct 
and  the  prospect  of  a  financial  arrangement  wel 
come  to  one  in  his  circumstances,  the  Marquis  de 
Tr6court  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  produce 
corresponding  advantages  of  his  own.  This  he 
proceeded  to  do  with  a  certain  fine  condescension. 
He  pointed  out  that  Jean  had  no  debts,  that  he 
had  been  singularly  deficient  in  the  irregularities 
incident  to  his  age.  He  even  conveyed  the  impres 
sion  that  it  was  easier  to  pardon  irregularities  of 
this  nature  than  to  explain  their  absence.  Jean 
had  inherited  from  his  mother  what  it  pleased 
the  Marquis  to  call  a  levity  of  disposition  which, 
however  charming  in  a  woman,  had  caused  him 
much  anxiety;  because,  being  constitutional  and 
persistent,  it  was  more  disheartening  than  a 
merely  temporary  lapse  with  folly.  If,  without 
passing  through  that  morass  in  which  men  be 
came  entangled  before  establishing  themselves  all 
the  more  firmly  on  the  foundations  of  duty,  he 
should  give  evidence  of  recognizing  the  serious 
ness  of  life  and  of  conforming  to  the  standards 
of  tradition,  he,  the  Marquis,  would  be  delighted. 
Jean  had  now  a  career.  It  was  a  fitting  moment 
to  consider  the  future  and  his  obligations  to  so 
ciety.  He,  the  Marquis,  would  gladly  ascertain  to 
what  extent  the  sentiments  of  his  son  agreed  with 
those  of  Madame  la  Comtesse.  Had  she  any  rea 
son  to  believe  that  mademoiselle  would  be  favor 
ably  disposed? 

258 


HELEN 


Listening  to  these  fine  speeches  with  an  equally 
fine  reserve  and  dignity,  Madame  de  Chavigny 
replied  that  she  would  lay  his  proposal  before  her 
granddaughter.  Having  thus  shifted  the  initia 
tive  from  her  own  shoulders,  she  evaded  further 
insistence  upon  prudential  questions  by  retreat 
ing  behind  the  person  of  Mr.  Fearing. 

"A  fine  prudence,  forsooth,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  "when  all  the  honey  is  in  one  comb!" 

On  reaching  Paris  she  passed  by  the  Avenue 
Montaigne  to  inform  the  Princess  that  the  Mar 
quis  de  Trecourt  had  asked  the  hand  of  Helen  for 
his  son. 

There  remained  the  question  of  the  immediate 
future.  On  this  question  also  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  while  listening  to  Helen's  confidences.  Hav 
ing  been  denied  much  happiness  herself,  she  was 
prodigal  of  that  commodity  for  others.  Notwith 
standing  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  therefore,  and 
the  fatigues  of  the  day,  still  bent  upon  the  pursuit 
of  happiness,  from  the  Avenue  Montaigne  she 
went  to  the  Quai  d'Orsay. 

Fortune  smiled  upon  her.  The  Minister  was  in. 

"To  what  god  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  a  visit 
from  you,  dear  madame?"  said  Coulomb,  coming 
to  meet  her  with  outstretched  hands,  and  closing 
behind  her  the  door  of  the  antechamber. 

Madame  de  Chavigny,  adjusting  her  mantle 
and  taking  the  proffered  chair,  seized  the  cue 
promptly. 

259 


HELEN 


"To  the  god  for  whom  even  the  portfolio  of  a 
Minister  is  not  sacred." 

"Dear  madame,"  said  Coulomb  evasively. 

Undaunted  in  her  pursuit  of  a  thing  so  elusive 
as  happiness,  Madame  de  Chavigny  opened  her 
batteries  at  once. 

"The  Marquis  de  Trecourt  has  to-day  asked 
the  hand  of  my  granddaughter  for  his  son  — " 

"What!  that  charming  person  — " 

"But  most  unhappy,"  interrupted  Madame  de 
Chavigny,  ' '  for  you  take  this  occasion  to  exile 
Jean  de  Tr£court  to  Corea.  On  what  map  I  ask 
myself  is  this  Corea?  For  what  interests  of  the 
State  is  this  young  man  so  important  to  Corea 
that  hearts  should  suffer?" 

The  wrinkles  of  anxiety  on  Coulomb's  forehead 
were  disappearing  and  those  about  the  mouth 
broke  into  a  benevolent  smile. 

"My  dear  Countess,"  he  implored,  "not  an 
other  word,  I  beg  of  you.  What  Louis  XIV  at 
tempted  to  do  with  the  Pyrenees  on  a  like  occa 
sion  we  will  do  for  Corea.  It  no  longer  exists." 

"You  promise  me?" 

"With  all  my  heart.  What  you  ask  is  nothing 
—  a  mere  nothing." 

"Far  from  it,"  she  replied,  resorting  to  her 
handkerchief,  as  he  bent  over  her  hand;  "I  was 
about  to  enter  upon  second  childhood  —  instead 
of  which  you  restore  to  me  my  youth." 


XXIX 

THEY  were  all  at  the  station. 

Jack  came  with  Helen.  They  had  spent  the 
last  night  together.  Important,  like  all  departing 
heroes,  his  spirits  were  high.  While  Helen  was 
verifying  his  various  impedimenta  in  the  com 
partment,  the  others  stood  talking  outside. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  cry,  Helen,"  said 
Jack  in  a  whisper.  "And  you  need  n't  tell  me 
again  to  be  good.  I  will  if  I  can." 

She  kissed  him  once,  twice. 

"  I  wish  it  were  Mr.  Fearing  instead  of  Jean," 
he  said  between  the  kisses;  "then  you  would  be 
going  too." 

"Don't  tell  that  to  Mr.  Fearing,  dear." 

"I  have." 

"Jack!" 

"Oh,  he  did  n't  mind,"  said  Jack  cheerfully. 

When  Helen  came  out  Tatia  dragged  Dimitri 
to  the  window  and  engaged  Jack  in  an  animated 
conversation. 

Helen  and  Fearing  walked  a  little  way  down  the 
platform.  He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  yellow 
pasteboard  had  fluttered  from  her  pocket  in  the 
Rue  du  Bac.  It  was  necessary  to  say  something. 

"I  wish  you  a  great  deal  of  happiness,  Miss 
Lee." 

261 


HELEN 


In  spite  of  the  sincerity,  the  words  seemed 
commonplace  and  the  voice  sounded  hollow  to 
him. 

"That's  a  long  way  off."  However  far  away 
it  might  be,  the  reality  of  it  was  in  every  elastic 
step.  "  I  think  you  might  call  me  Helen  to-day," 
she  said,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"I  would  have  liked  to  from  the  beginning." 

She  turned  her  face  to  his  again.  "  Why  did  n't 
you?  You  deserve  a  great  deal  more  than  that." 

"I  think,  on  the  whole,  I  have  been  a  little 
afraid  of  you." 

She  laughed  gayly.  "Afraid  of  me!  You!  How 
absurd!" 

The  guards  were  beginning  to  close  the  doors. 

"We  must  not  get  too  far  away,"  he  said,  turn 
ing. 

Her  face  became  grave  again.  "You  will  write 
—  often  —  Jack's  letters  will  not  tell  all  I  want  to 
know  — "  And,  after  a  pause,  "It  is  as  impossible 
for  me  to  thank  you  as  it  was  to  give  you  that 
louis.  I  am  poorer  now  than  I  was  then." 

"Poor!"  He  checked  himself.  "Don't  forget 
how  to  make  out  your  drafts,"  he  said,  laughing. 

He  had  made  the  grave  little  mouth  break  into 
a  smile.  She  gave  him  her  hand  as  he  went  up  the 
steps.  Then  the  train  began  to  move. 

"Good-bye!"  shouted  Jack.  His  white  hand 
kerchief  was  fluttering  at  the  window  as  long  as 
he  could  distinguish  the  red  cloak  on  the  receding 

262 


HELEN 


platform.  Settling  himself  in  his  corner  seat  he 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  "  She 's  always  game," 
he  said.  "I  was  afraid  she  would  cry.  When  do 
we  get  to  Calais?" 

In  the  motor  the  Princess  also  was  busy  with  a 
handkerchief.  Helen  reached  for  her  hand. 

1  'It's  all  right,  Tatia  dear.  Jack's  safe  with 
him." 

Tatia  choked  back  a  sob  and  nodded.  It  would 
never  do  for  her  to  know ! 

Tatia  was  wretchedly  unhappy.  Everything  in 
the  world  was  going  awry.  What  a  pitiful  thing 
it  was  to  live!  Did  God  concern  Himself  about 
anything?  Who  was  responsible,  if  not  Heaven, 
for  all  this  misery?  Was  any  one  happy?  Not 
Fearing,  certainly,  on  the  way  to  America,  nor 
Jean,  on  the  way  to  Corea.  Helen,  then,  with  her 
fine  ideas  of  duty  and  conscience !  Bah !  Tatia's 
ill-humor  veered  from  Heaven  to  the  solitary 
woman  in  the  Villa  Fontana.  From  what  other 
source  could  such  a  black  drop  of  conscience 
come! 

With  every  answer  to  her  self-questionings  her 
ill-humor  increased.  Fearing  was  gone  —  what 
else  could  he  do?  Madame  de  Chavigny  was  leav 
ing  for  the  country  —  had  she  not  the  right  to 
choose  her  own  time?  Helen  accompanied  her  — 
was  she  to  be  censured  for  loving  her  grandmother? 
The  proposal  of  the  Marquis  de  Tr£court  had 

263 


HELEN 


been  accepted  —  was  not  that  what  she,  Tatia, 
had  desired?  Who  would  have  thought  that 
Fearing,  that  man  of  pure  business  —  Tatia 
drew  a  profound  sigh. 

Having  deposited  Helen  and  Madame  de  Cha- 
vigny  in  the  Rue  du  Bac,  the  motor  went  on  to  the 
Avenue  Montaigne.  A  mournful  atmosphere  of 
vacancy  and  depression  pervaded  the  apartment. 
One  glance  at  the  empty  seat  behind  the  samovar 
completed  the  deception.  It  was  no  longer  home. 
She  ordered  the  motor  again  and  went  to  the 
Embassy. 

Alexis,  in  the  private  room  of  the  Chancellerie, 
looked  up  from  his  papers  with  surprise. 

"Why,  Tatia,"  he  exclaimed,  "at  this  hour!" 

"I  am  not  welcome?"  she  asked  irritably. 

"On  the  contrary,  the  more  so  because  unex 
pected.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"A  cup  of  tea,  and  company." 

Alexis  smiled.  He  said  to  himself  that  handing 
over  Helen  to  her  rightful  owner  had  not  im 
proved  his  cousin's  temper.  He  drew  his  chair 
beside  her  and  rang  for  tea. 

"So  Madame  de  Chavigny  is  going  into  the 
country." 

Tatia  nodded.    "But  why  so  early?" 

"  Did  you  expect  her  to  wait  for  the  culmination 
of  the  social  season?"  she  asked  sarcastically. 

"But,  my  dear  Tatia,  the  crocuses  are  not  yet 
out." 

264 


HELEN 


"When  you  are  seventy,  my  dear  Alexis,  you 
will  not  wait  for  the  crocuses." 

"Seventy-three,"  he  corrected. 

"Besides,"  she  went  on  with  a  scornful  disre 
gard  for  accuracy,  "when  one  has  waited  till 
seventy  to  taste  happiness  one  becomes  greedy." 

"Seventy-three,  think  of  it!  What  you  say  is 
quite  just.  I  compliment  you  on  your  generosity, 
Tatia,  though  you  might  display  it  more  gra 
ciously." 

"I  am  not  seventy,  and  I  am  not  generous." 

Alexis  smiled  again. 

"  If  we  could  but  ring  up  the  curtain  as  they  do 
at  the  theatre,"  she  sighed,  "and  say,  two  years 
are  supposed  to  have  elapsed." 

"Heavens!  Tatia,  what  a  spendthrift  you  are! 
Do  be  less  reckless  with  the  years,  I  implore  you. 
You  married  women  amaze  me.  You  know  very 
well  that  when  the  fairy  tale  ends  the  real  story 
begins  —  yet  you  are  not  afraid." 

Tatia  gave  her  cousin  her  smile  of  superior  wis 
dom.  "I  do  not  pretend  to  rival  you  in  experi 
ence,  Alexis,  but  there  are  things  of  which  you 
are  ignorant." 

It  occurred  to  him  to  retort  that  there  were 
others  of  which  she  knew  nothing,  but  for  the  mo 
ment  he  contented  himself  with  thinking  it. 

"Well,  I  am  going,"  she  said,  sighing  again. 
"Will  you  tell  Dimitri  I  am  here?" 

"One  moment,  please.  We  were  speaking  of 
265 


HELEN 


things  of  which  we  are  ignorant.  Yesterday  I  was 
at  the  Foreign  Office.  It  was  the  day  for  ambas 
sadors.  It  seems  it  was  the  day  for  exceptional 
visitors  also.  There  were  five  of  us  in  the  ante 
chamber.  'Who  is  with  His  Excellency?'  I  asked. 
They  shrugged  their  shoulders  after  the  manner 
of  ambassadors  jealous  of  their  prerogatives. 
Presently  the  usher  threw  open  the  door  and 
announced  me.  '  A  thousand  pardons  for  keeping 
you  waiting/  Coulomb  said  to  me.  '  Do  not  speak 
of  it,'  I  replied;  'I  came  only  to  pay  my  respects, 
and  as  I  have  left  four  of  my  colleagues  yonder  — ' 
'Sit  down/  he  said,  laughing;  'I  have  something 
to  confide  to  you  —  in  fact  a  confession,  a  State 
secret/  Now  you  know,  Tatia,  the  joy  of  receiv 
ing  a  secret  consists  chiefly  in  sharing  it." 

Tatia  pricked  up  her  ears. 

"'Do  you  remember/  he  began,  'that  young 
man  of  whom  we  were  speaking  lately  at  the  Prin 
cess's  dinner?'  'Tr6court/  I  replied;  'certainly/ 
'It  appears  that  he  is  in  love  with  that  young 
person  who  sat  beside  him  at  the  far  end  of  the 
table/  'Precisely/  I  said;  'the  granddaughter 
of  Madame  de  Chavigny/  'It  was  Madame  de 
Chavigny/  he  said,  waving  his  hand  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  ante-room,  'who  just  now  kept  the 
representatives  of  five  Great  Powers  waiting,  and 
who,  before  leaving,  extracted  from  me  the  prom 
ise  to  recall  this  young  dog  from  Corea  —  Egypt 
—  wherever  he  may  be  —  and  while  listening  to 

266 


HELEN 


her  I  saw  constantly  that  charming  face,  so  fresh, 
and  so  troubled,  between  the  flowers  and  cande 
labra  at  the  end  of  the  Princess's  table.  Some 
times  '  —  he  carried  his  hand  to  his  head  with  a 
gesture  of  weariness  —  l  sometimes  one  receives 
an  impression  for  which  one  cannot  account  — 
a  strain  of  music,  a  passing  perfume ;  and  just  now, 
while  Madame  de  Chavigny  was  speaking  to  me, 
it  was  the  voice  of  that  troubled  face  which  I 
heard  speaking,  not  hers  —  and  there  came  to  me 
in  this  room  where  I  was  waiting  for  you  a  vision 
of  past  days,  when  I  was  young,  of  things  for 
gotten,  the  songs  of  nightingales,  the  scent  of 
new-mown  hay  —  and  I  promised.'  Positively, 
Tatia,  it  was  extraordinary.  I  was  dumb  with 
astonishment.  You  know  how  corpulent  he  is, 
how  his  fat  fingers  tap  listlessly  on  the  table.  At 
last  I  managed  to  say,  'You  did  well.  Of  what 
importance  to  Corea  is  Monsieur  de  Trecourt? 
You  yourself  told  me'  —  'None,'  he  said,  'none 
whatever  —  but  I  wish  to  think  that  I  did  what 
I  have  done  because  of  that  troubled  face  I  saw 
among  the  flowers  at  the  end  of  the  table.  How 
many,  do  you  say,  are  in  the  antechamber?'  I 
pressed  his  hand  and  came  away  in  silence." 

He  touched  the  bell  on  the  desk.  "Say  to  the 
Prince  his  carriage  is  waiting." 

Speechless,  Tatia  had  the  appearance  of  a  child 
about  to  cry. 

"Now  we  see,"  he  smiled,  "why  Madame  de 

267 


HELEN 


Chavigny  does  not  wait  for  the  crocuses.  I  am 
convinced  that  down  there  in  Touraine  she  is 
preparing  one  of  those  surprises  which  do  not 
depend  upon  the  season." 

He  put  his  finger  to  his  lips  for  silence  as  Dimi- 
tri  entered.  "Dimitri  excepted,  naturally,"  he 
said. 

If  the  slips  of  yellow  pasteboard  floating  idly 
in  the  current  along  the  curbing  could  have  told 
their  story,  various  mysteries  on  Tatia's  horizon 
would  have  been  cleared  away.  Neither  Helen's 
rebuff  nor  Jean's  avowal  of  discomfiture  had 
shaken  the  tenacity  of  her  intuitions.  She  was  not 
in  the  least  surprised  by  Madame  de  Chavigny 's 
announcement,  but  she  was  mystified.  There  was 
one  very  simple  way  of  solving  the  mystery,  and 
in  the  first  outburst  of  feeling  she  had  very  nearly 
sought  illumination  at  the  source  itself.  But 
Helen,  less  accessible  than  in  the  days  of  the  Villa 
Fontana,  furnished  none  of  those  enlightening 
details  for  which  she  hungered.  She  had  met 
Tatia's  advances  with  the  old  naive  frankness,  a 
frankness,  however,  tempered  by  an  equally 
naive  reserve.  The  Princess  had  not  forgotten 
that  she  had  recently  broken  into  that  reserve 
with  disastrous  results.  Profoundly  ignorant  as 
she  was  of  the  gust  of  passion  in  the  Lyons  sta 
tion,  she  was  not  the  less  convinced  that  some 
thing  had  changed  a  girl  into  a  woman. 

Returning  from  the  Embassy,  she  also  was  a 
268 


HELENA 


changed  person  —  swept  by  the  desire  to  fly  then 
and  there  into  Helen's  arms  —  instead  of  which 
she  asked  Dimitri  if  he  could  keep  a  secret,  and 
acquainted  him  with  her  cousin's  method  of  en 
joying  one. 


XXX 

THE  tide  of  life  flowing  past  the  terrace  at  Shep- 
heard's  was  at  its  full,  for  it  was  the  tea-hour. 
Moreover,  the  end  of  the  season  was  drawing  near 
and  the  prey  was  about  to  escape.  Every  vender 
of  spurious  antiquities,  every  snake-charmer, 
juggler,  and  lier-in-wait  for  piastres  who  could 
escape  the  fire-carriage  of  the  infidel  and  elude  the 
vigilance  of  the  solitary  guardian  of  the  peace 
assigned  to  the  maintenance  of  circulation  along 
the  terrace  rail  was  at  his  post,  eloquent  of  speech 
and  eye  and  resplendent  in  local  color. 

Against  all  these  attractions  the  guests  about 
Mrs.  Stuart's  table  were  proof.  She  herself  had 
long  since  graduated  from  the  vulgar  interest  in 
all  that  constitutes  the  charm  for  the  Cairo  tourist. 
Her  present  interest  was  the  young  officer  on  the 
Sirdar's  staff,  the  English  doctor  and  his  wife 
from  Gezireh,  an  archaeologist  from  the  Sudan, 
and  the  French  Diplomatic  Agent,  her  afternoon 
guests.  All  these  people  had  also  acquired  that 
indifference  to  local  color  which  distinguishes  the 
resident  from  the  travelling  guild.  So  the  local 
color,  ebbing  and  flowing  under  the  terrace  rail 
ing,  in  wise  recognition  of  unlawful  prey,  left 
them  in  tranquillity. 

In  white  from  head  to  foot,  her  blue  eyes  very 

270 


HELEN 


much  alive,  Mrs.  Stuart  was  exhibiting  a  sapphire 
bracelet  which  the  Ceylon  merchant  in  the  hotel 
corridor  had  insisted  she  should  keep,  "just  to 
look  at,"  overnight. 

"He  knows  very  well  I  am  going  up  the  river 
to-morrow,"  she  was  saying. 
:'    "Are  n't  you  rather  late  in  starting,  Mrs.  Stu 
art?"  asked  the  young  officer. 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  going  to  be  towed,  anyway.  The 
crowd  will  be  gone.  I  Ve  seen  all  the  stuffy  monu 
ments,  you  know.  It's  sunsets  I  am  after,  and 
peace,  before  the  London  season."  She  held  the 
bracelet  up  to  the  light.  "I  really  don't  want  it. 
He  asks  three  hundred  pounds  for  it.  What  do 
you  think?" 

"It's  a  jolly  good  color,"  said  the  officer,  "and 
a  jolly  good  price.  You  won't  get  it  for  less,  mind 
you.  These  Ceylon  beggars  have  got  the  prix 
fixe  into  their  heads  and  won't  be  budged  an 
inch." 

Mrs.  Stuart  laughed.  "But  it  is  pretty.  I 
wonder  if  it  is  really  worth  it." 

Just  then  a  messenger  from  the  office  whispered 
something  to  the  doctor,  who  rose,  excusing  him 
self,  and  went  into  the  hotel. 

"Doctors  have  no  rest,"  remarked  his  wife. 
"It's  a  villainous  profession." 

Mrs.  Stuart  dropped  the  sapphires  in  her  lap. 
"I  wish  I  knew  how  many  flaws  there  are  in  the 
stones.  Three  hundred  is  such  a  lot." 

271 


HELEN 


The  "just  to  look  at"  potion  was  beginning  to 
work. 

The  archaeologist  took  out  his  pocket  micro 
scope,  the  band  struck  in,  and  conversation  ceased. 

Presently  came  back  the  doctor. 

Mrs.  Stuart  looked  up  smiling.  "You  were  n't 
long,  were  you.  I  have  just  ordered  a  fresh  brew 
and  hot  toast." 

But  he  did  not  sit  down.  He  pushed  a  card 
over  to  the  French  Agent.  "  It 's  one  of  your  peo 
ple,"  he  said  laconically. 

* '  Trecourt !  What 's  wrong  with  him  ?  Why,  he 
was  at  the  Agency  this  morning  enquiring  for 
letters." 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  in  bed  —  long  ago,  for 
that  matter,"  was  the  dry  reply. 

"And  he  is  sailing  for  the  East  by  the  next 
steamer." 

"You  can  cancel  his  booking  without  risk. 
He's  going  to-night  to  the  hospital." 

Mrs.  Stuart  sat  up  suddenly,  her  blue  eyes  di 
lating,  and  reached  for  the  card. 

"Trecourt!  You  don't  mean  Jean  de  Tr6court! 
Why,  I  know  him  intimately"  —  in  moments  of 
excitement  Mrs.  Stuart  paid  scant  regard  to  strict 
accuracy —  "he's  engaged  to  one  of  my  dearest 
friends.  I  have  just  had  a  cable  announcing  the 
engagement." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  the  doctor;  "I  mean  I  am 
sorry  to  think  you  are  off  to-morrow.  A  woman 

272 


HELEN 


friend  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man  in  a  Cairo  hos 
pital  to  have." 

Mrs.  Stuart  did  not  stop  to  think  twice.  The 
good  like  the  evil  in  her  bubbled  up  instantly. 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  would  n't 
think  of  leaving.  You  don't  mean  — "  She  looked 
up  anxiously. 

"My  dear  lady,  I  can  tell  you  better  what  I 
mean  to-morrow.  If  you  like  I  will  call  in  the 
morning." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  party  broke  up. 

"Nothing  serious?"  said  the  French  Agent,  in 
terrogatively,  to  the  doctor  as  they  went  down  the 
steps  together. 

"Typhoid's  always  a  worry,"  was  the  reply. 

The  following  morning,  and  thereafter,  Mrs. 
Stuart  rode  roughshod  over  hospital  rules  and 
regulations.  It  were  unkind  to  trace  the  thread  of 
motive  in  the  web  of  her  procedure.  The  English 
doctor  saw  only  the  quick  decision,  the  instant 
sacrifice  of  personal  plans.  Being  quick  of  decision 
himself,  and  warm-hearted  under  a  cold  exterior, 
he  admired  Mrs.  Stuart  greatly  for  what  he  told 
his  wife  was  "a  fine  piece  of  work,"  and  winked 
at  the  disregard  of  rule.  Mrs.  Stuart  loved  the 
approbation  and  admiration  of  others.  It  was 
far  dearer  to  her  than  her  own.  If  ultimately  the 
approval  of  conscience  added  its  tonic  contribu 
tion,  so  much  the  better.  It  could  not  fairly  be 
said  to  be  the  inspiring  motive.  Nor  was  it  alto- 

273 


HELEN 


gether  a  pose.  Having  seen  what  was  the  heroic 
thing  to  do,  she  seized  upon  it,  and  immediately 
lost  herself  in  her  r61e  —  perhaps,  too,  found  her 
self,  the  inherent  good  slumbering  under  the  crust 
of  her  social  code. 

The  man  who  had  bored  her  so  in  the  Avenue 
Montaigne  was  astonished  to  see  this  dainty  fig 
ure  in  white  installed  at  his  bedside.  She  had  to 
remind  him  where  he  had  seen  her  before,  to  make 
clear  the  reasons  for  her  presence.  They  were  not 
very  clear  to  him,  but  he  was  hot,  tired,  lonely, 
and  reasoning  was  an  effort.  Gradually  his  first 
shrinking  yielded  to  her  cool  presence,  to  the  wo 
man  in  her  which  was  not  in  the  nurse,  to  the 
appeal  of  the  sympathy  he  could  not  wholly  ac 
count  for,  but  which,  at  any  rate,  was  not  profes 
sional.  Then,  too,  she  was  a  tie  with  the  past,  and 
her  face  melted  into  one  he  dreamed  of  when  sink 
ing  into  the  hollows  of  feverish  sleep. 

Night  and  morning  he  asked  wistfully  for  the 
mail,  and  night  and  morning  Mrs.  Stuart,  on 
her  way  to  and  from  the  hospital,  called  at  the 
Agency.  She  was  rewarded  at  last  one  evening 
by  a  letter  with  a  Paris  postmark,  and  late  though 
it  was,  drove  back  to  deliver  it  with  her  own 
hand. 

He  held  it,  unopened,  under  his  pillow.  She 
read  the  gratitude  in  the  hollow  eyes  and  left 
him,  tactfully,  firm  in  the  belief  that  it  was  more 
than  any  prescription.  He  read  it,  a  sentence  now 

274 


HELEN 


and  then,  in  the  night  watches,  when  the  nurse, 
busy  with  other  duties,  gave  him  opportunity, 
scorning  the  reason  and  seeing  only  the  love.  Its 
radiance  blinded  him  —  it  was  too  wonderful  — 
all  the  rest  pure  waste  of  ink.  Through  the  long 
night,  between  the  snatches  of  fitful  sleep,  tossed, 
like  a  ship  adrift,  on  the  tides  of  love  and  reason, 
he  strove  with  what  he  should  say,  what  he  should 
write,  to-morrow,  when  he  was  stronger,  holding 
fast  the  wandering  thoughts  always  slipping  away 
into  nothingness.  It  was  enough  that  she  should 
ask.  How  could  he  resist  her  who  had  both  love 
and  reason  on  her  side  —  how,  if  he  did  not  obey 
her  now,  could  he  persuade  her  that  he  would 
obey  her  hereafter  —  what  else  was  this  appeal  to 
reason  but  the  measure  of  her  self-sacrificing  love 
—  no  —  he  would  not  permit  it  —  he  would  be  a 
boy  no  more  —  master  — 

When  morning  came  he  found  a  hand  fast  in 
his,  and  drew  away,  flushing. 

"I  thought  it  was  the  lever,"  he  whispered,  "I 
was  flying." 

Madge  spoke  up  promptly,  authoritatively, 
with  a  forced  bravado  and  a  brave  smile,  meeting 
his  searching  eyes  unflinchingly  —  the  assenting 
eyes  of  the  stricken  who  has  no  strength  for  use 
less  argument.  "He  knows,"  she  thought.  She 
could  have  kissed  him,  the  mother  in  her  near  to 
getting  the  upper  hand. 

Jim  had  always  said,  "No  kids  for  me!"  and 

275 


HELEN 

she  had  acquiesced.  Driving  out  to  Gezireh,  for 
she  had  missed  the  doctor's  morning  call,  she 
wondered. 

The  doctor  came  down  to  the  gate. 

"No,  I  won't  get  out,"  she  said.  "I  wanted 
the  air,  and  to  be  stiffened  up  a  bit.  Can't  you 
do  it?" 

"There's  a  trite  saying  about  hope  and  life"  — 
he  paused  a  moment  —  "I  wish  I  could." 

"He  had  a  letter  last  night,  Doctor.  I  thought 
it  might  save  him." 

"Yes,  I  know  —  they  do,  in  some  cases. "\ 

Her  voice  broke.    "You  mean  it  has  happened 

—  what  you  feared?" 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "it  has  happened." 
So  the  day  dreaded  came.   She  was  there,  calm 
and  dry-eyed,  as  usual. 

"There  is  nothing  more  I  can  do,  Mrs.  Stuart 

—  nor  you,"  she  heard  the  doctor  saying.    "You 
had  better  go." 

She  gave  him  a  reproachful  look.  He  beckoned 
her  aside. 

"It's  ghastly,"  he  said.  "They  had  a  message 
at  the  Agency  last  night  —  a  telegram  recalling 
him  —  some  billet  in  the  Foreign  Office.  It's  just 
as  well  he  never  knew.  Who  was  it  dreamed  that 
all  the  unfulfilled  hopes  of  his  life  came  like  birds 
and  perched  upon  his  coffin?" 

An  hour  later  she  was  driving  back  alone  to 
Shepheard's,  crying  softly  to  herself,  Helen's  let- 

276 


HELEN 


ter  in  her  hand,  while  the  dragoman  on  the  box 
called  his  warning  "Oo-ah!   Oo-ah!" 

In  her  own  room  again,  she  dismissed  the  maid 
and,  turning  up  the  lowered  night  lamp,  unfolded 
the  crumpled  letter.  She  knew  very  well  that 
what  she  was  doing  was  a  shameful  thing,  yet  she 
read  it  through,  without  compunction,  from  be 
ginning  to  end  with  tears  that  helped  to  wash  out 
the  shame.  The  tears  and  the  shame  she  under 
stood,  but  they  did  not  trouble  her.  A  happiness, 
causeless,  unaccountable,  stirred  in  her  breast, 
feelings  long  strangers  to  her,  of  envy  for  all  she 
had  thought  to  despise,  of  remorse  for  all  she  had 
counted  no  sin,  of  disgust  for  all  that  had  been  her 
pride,  of  yearning  for  what  she  had  spurned  and 
missed.  They  welled  up  like  a  fountain,  obliter 
ating  even  what  she  had  just  passed  through  — 
Jean's  face,  the  silent  few  about  the  bed,  the  hor 
rible  hospital  odor — setting  her  face  to  the  future, 
flooding  her  whole  being  with  the  light  of  a  new 
dawn.  In  that  light  all  her  wretched  little  world 
seemed  to  shrivel  up  and  disappear.  She  found 
herself  thinking  confusedly  of  Jim,  of  the  world 
she  had  dreamed  of  when  a  girl.  It  still  existed.  By 
some  miracle  it  was  coming  to  meet  her  with  its 
forgotten  promises  and  hopes.  Thank  God,  they 
had  not  come  too  late  to  perch  upon  her  coffin  lid. 
She  was  alive,  in  her  warm  bed,  and  despite  the 
tears  and  the  shame  and  the  violated  letter  under 
her  pillow,  she  smiled  in  her  sleep. 

277 


HELEN 


In  the  morning  she  wrote  Jim  she  was  coming 
home. 

Jim  was  amazed.  The  abandoned  dahabiyeh 
lying  provisioned  above  the  Nile  Bridge  repre 
sented  such  a  lot  of  wasted  money,  and  feminine 
caprice ! 


XXXI 

THERE  was  something  sweet  and  wholesome  about 
the  small  house,  for  small  it  was  in  comparison 
with  its  princely  neighbors,  though  known  in  the 
near-by  cluster  of  cottages  as  the  '  chateau/ 
Boasting  neither  legends  nor  history,  only  age,  no 
tourists  invaded  its  seclusion,  and  like  the  little 
village,  too  insignificant  to  be  found  on  the  maps, 
it  was  unknown  to  the  guidebooks.  Hidden  be 
hind  the  screen  of  trees  standing  guard  along  its 
high  encircling  wall,  travellers  on  the  main  road 
passed  it  by,  unsuspecting,  and  only  to  the  cow 
herd  in  the  pastures  beyond  the  river  was  it  visible 
through  the  opening  of  the  sycamores  —  a  white 
patch  against  the  green  background. 

Regularly  once  a  year  it  shook  itself  from  its 
torpor,  opened  wide  its  shutters,  and  became 
distinctly  animate.  And  regularly  once  a  year, 
when  Madame  la  Comtesse  rumbled  away  behind 
the  stout  draft  horses  to  the  railway  station,  it 
shut  its  eyes  for  the  long  nap  of  winter. 

Helen  fell  in  love  with  it  at  first  sight.  After 
Paris,  the  endless  round  of  visits,  the  wearisome 
formalities  of  society,  the  never-ending  roar  of 
the  sleepless  streets,  to  open  her  window  to  the 
young  buds  on  the  climbing  vines,  to  the  glint  of 
the  river  beyond  which  the  cattle  were  browsing 

279 


HELEN 


on  the  level  meadows,  was  enchantment.  Below, 
the  balustrade  of  the  terrace  guarded  the  door 
from  too  instant  intrusion,  and  three  steps  led 
down  to  the  straight  path  dividing  the  lawn  and 
inviting  her  to  come  with  it  to  the  murmuring 
river. 

Because  there  was  nothing  to  remind  her  of  the 
Villa  Fontana,  she  was  constantly  thinking  of  it. 
Contrast  was  more  effective  than  resemblance  in 
awakening  memory.  What  different  things  in  the 
same  liquid  language  with  which  the  blue  sea  had 
talked  to  the  oleanders  the  river  was  saying  to  the 
sycamores.  Neither  Africa  nor  Asia  had  contrib 
uted  anything  to  the  homely  garden  where  Ma 
dame  de  Chavigny,  the  very  morning  after  their 
arrival,  was  pruning  the  budding  rose-trees  under 
her  broad-brimmed  hat.  Everything  was  in  its 
own  place  —  which  would  have  pleased  Mr.  Fear 
ing  !  —  and  everywhere  was  a  brooding  sense  of 
friendliness. 

Except  for  Jack,  who  was  not  wholly  satisfying, 
and  the  occasional  irruptions  of  Tatia,  she  had 
been  alone  in  the  Villa  Fontana.  It  was  no  hard 
ship  now  to  be  alone.  There  was  always  the  path 
beckoning  her  into  the  future  as  the  path  from  the 
three  steps  beckoned  her  to  the  river.  Separation 
becomes  a  real  pain  only  after  fruition.  To  her, 
as  to  her  grandmother,  life  had  become  infinitely 
precious  —  for  one  to  lavish  freely,  for  the  other 
to  treasure  niggardly.  And  of  all  the  contrasts 

280 


HELEN 


Madame  de  Chavigny  in  her  rose-garden  was  the 
greatest.  How  tiresome  it  had  been  to  make  the 
grand  round  in  the  villas!  "Helen,"  said  Madame 
de  Chavigny,  looking  up  from  her  rose-tree,  the 
scissors  in  her  gloved  hand,  "how  is  it  possible  not 
to  miss  you!"  Helen  wondered. 

The  letter  that  came  from  Tatia,  spiced  with 
gossip,  antidote  for  monotony,  was  wasted  sym 
pathy.  "Do  not  worry  about  me,  Tatia,"  she 
wrote  in  reply,  "I  am  quite  happy." 

There  had  been  duties  in  the  Villa  Fontana.  But 
for  Jack  and  Helen,  the  Villa  Fontana  was  all 
duty,  and  it  had  never  ceased  to  reach  out  its 
ghostly  hand  in  its  old  compelling  way.  For  it 
was  a  duty,  that  weekly  letter,  the  only  task  left 
in  the  present.  She  had  often  asked  herself 
whether  it  was  worth  the  effort,  whether  happi 
ness  was  a  welcome  offering  on  the  villa  altar,  and 
had  tried  to  soften  and  subdue  its  expression.  To 
keep  both  happiness  and  duty  out  of  a  letter  was 
not  easy.  There  were  times,  too,  when  she  wished 
her  grandmother  was  even  more  sparing  of  the 
stray  words  of  endearment  scattered  haphazard 
through  her  replies  —  unwilling  guests  that  spoke 
their  lines  haltingly,;  and  sometimes  a  sentence 
brought  a  smile:  "Monsieur  Hermite  still  en 
quires  for  you."  "We  are  having  much  trouble 
with  a  disease  in  the  Picea  Pungens  from  Colo 
rado." 

It  was  easier  to  chronicle  her  day  for  Tatia's 
281 


HELEN 


benefit,  though  there  was  little  to  record  —  a 
stately  visit  from  stately  neighbors,  a  morning 
walk  through  clumps  of  chestnuts  and  patches  of 
vineyard  to  the  crooked  streets  of  the  village,  a 
chat  with  the  women  knitting  in  the  sun  of  the 
doorways  or  thumping  the  linen  on  the  flat  coping 
of  the  fountain,  and  when  the  weather  was  fine 
a  longer  excursion  in  the  motor;  for  Peter  had 
inspired  such  confidence  that  the  heavy  draft 
horses  and  lumbering  coach  were  daily  growing 
heavier  and  sleeker  and  more  lumbering  than 
ever. 

But  it  was  neither  the  letter  from  Tatia  nor  the 
Villa  Fontana  that  she  looked  for  when  listening 
to  the  click  of  the  gardener's  sabots  returning 
from  the  village  post-office.  What  would  his  an 
swer  be?  Did  she  really  wish  him  to  yield  to  rea 
son?  Sometimes,  sitting  under  the  sycamores 
listening  to  the  river-talk,  a  pang  of  rebellious 
unreason  shot  through  the  heart  of  her  joy,  echo 
of  some  cave  woman  carried  away  through  the 
forest  when  reason  was  not  yet  born  and  passion 
was  omnipotent.  It  was  a  transient  pang,  not  even 
accorded  acknowledgment,  as  foolish  as  Jack's 
threat  to  emulate  Lochinvar.  Dear  Jack  —  what 
a  silly  boy  he  was! 

And  all  this  while  Madame  de  Chavigny  was 
silently  renewing  her  youth,  biding  her  time, 
awaiting  the  day  she  had  planned  for,  when  Jean 
should  come,  and  from  her  window  she  should 

282 


HELEN 


see  two  dear  forms  walking  down  the  path  to  the 
sycamores  to  confer  together,  and  all  these  per 
plexing  questions  should  be  settled  forever. 

Then,  one  evening,  answering  Jacques's  cry  of 
terror,  Helen  rushed  to  her  grandmother's  room. 
She  was  sitting  in  her  chair,  ready  for  bed,  a  tele 
gram  in  her  fallen  hand. 

Local  science  pronounced  it  heart-failure  — 
and  so,  in  truth,  it  was. 


BOOK  III 


XXXII 

"JACK,  you  must  have  another  pair  of  riding- 
breeches  —  those  are  disgraceful." 

Stretched  full  length  on  the  thin  brown  grass, 
Jack  rolled  over  lazily.  Although  unable  to  sur 
vey  the  offending  parts,  he  admitted  that  they 
were  "rather  far  gone;  but,"  he  added  ruefully, 
"they  will  have  to  go  till  next  pay-day." 

"  Is  Mr.  Fearing  as  strict  as  that?  "  asked  Helen. 

"It  is  n't  up  to  Mr.  Fearing;  it's  up  to  me," 
replied  Jack.  "After  we  agreed  on  what  was  a 
fair  allowance  he  had  nothing  more  to  do  with  it. 
I  found  that  out  when  we  had  our  first  dance  at 
school.  I  had  to  have  some  gloves,  but  I  was 
broke  —  so  I  had  them  charged.  They  sent  the 
bill  to  Mr.  Fearing  and  he  would  n't  pay  it.  I 
told  him  I  had  to  have  them.  He  said  no  one  had 
to  have  luxuries  he  could  n't  pay  for." 

Helen  laughed.  "What  do  you  do  when  you  go 
over  to  see  that  pretty  girl  at  the  Rosario  ranch?" 
she  asked,  surveying  the  demoralized  breeches. 

"I  sit  tight  and  I  back  out,"  said  Jack  grimly. 

There  was  nothing  anywhere  in  sight  except  the 
low  fringe  of  cottonwoods  where  the  river  ran, 
and  in  the  west,  if  one  shaded  one's  eyes  and 
looked  hard,  the  faint  blur  of  smoke  marking  the 
spot  which  Jack  called  'home.'  It  was  home  to 

287 


HELEN 


her  now.  She  had  learned  to  love  it.  All  the  tur 
moil  of  the  world,  even  its  pain,  was  lost  in  these 
wide,  silent  expanses.  Somewhere  beyond  that 
horizon  melting  into  the  level  plain  was  Tatia, 
the  white  chateau  facing  the  meadows,  its  shut 
ters  closed  now,  and  olives  and  oleanders  beside 
the  blue  sea  —  all  distinct,  but  unbelievable,  like 
the  vision  of  some  other  incarnation  opening  in  a 
dream. 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Fearing  would  disapprove 
if  I  made  you  a  present  of  a  pair?" 

"Approve!  You  haven't  got  to  get  his  ap 
proval." 

No,  she  knew  that. 

"Besides,"  Jack  went  on,  unmindful  of  what 
he  suggested,  "when  he  sent  me  a  whole  box  of 
gloves  Christmas  and  I  told  him  I  did  n't  see  the 
difference  between  that  and  paying  the  bill,  he 
said,  business  and  sentiment  must  be  kept  strictly 
apart.  Couldn't  you  charge  them  to  sentiment?" 

Helen  made  no  reply.  She  was  thinking  how 
little  he  had  ever  kept  business  and  sentiment 
apart  since  that  first  day  when  he  took  Jack's 
hand  walking  to  the  St.  Louis  bridge  —  of  how 
little,  too,  she  had  cared  then  for  any  one's  ap 
proval  but  her  own. 

"Could  n't  you?" 

She  stopped  thinking.  "There  is  n't  a  great 
deal  of  sentiment  in  a  pair  of  riding-breeches," 
she  said,  coming  back  to  the  present. 

288 


HELEN 


"I  wish  he  were  here,"  muttered  Jack  irrele 
vantly. 

"Am  I  such  a  poor  substitute?" 

He  thought  a  moment  before  answering. 
"You're  a  good  thing,  Helen,  but  you're  not  the 
same  thing." 

She  laughed  once  more,  this  time  at  his  candor. 
"You  have  changed  since  you  threatened  to  carry 
me  off  like  Lochinvar  —  do  you  remember?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  ever  said  anything  so  silly," 
he  retorted. 

"Oh,  yes  you  did.  You  should  n't  forget  what 
you  say  to  ladies.  Do  you  forget  what  you  say  to 
the  young  lady  over  at  Rosario,  too?" 

Jack  flushed.  "Helen,  you  are  getting  to  be  a 
regular  tease.  Who  is  there  but  Hilda  to  ride 
with!" 

"No  one  but  me  —  which,  however  good  a 
thing,  is  n't  the  same  thing,  is  it?" 

Jack  became  suddenly  sober.  "Don't  you 
think  Hilda  is  rather  nice?" 

"Very." 

There  was  a  pause.  He  seemed  unable  to  fol 
low  up  the  admission,  though  it  evidently  gave  him 
pleasure.  Looking  down  at  the  boy  sprawling  at 
her  feet,  his  sunburned  face  turned  to  the  sky,  she 
tried  to  picture  that  other  boy  in  knickerbockers 
with  whom  she  used  to  play  in  the  flowered  paths 
of  the  Villa  Fontana.  Ages  past,  those  days! 
When  they  spoke  of  them  it  was  as  of  another 

289 


HELEN 

existence.  But  changed  as  he  was,  he  was  the 
same  frank,  affectionate  Jack. 

Of  course  she  was  only  teasing,  though  she 
meant  what  she  had  said.  Hilda  was  nice.  Her 
family  was  of  Danish  origin,  but  Hilda,  born  in 
the  foothills  of  the  Rockies,  was  unmistakably 
American,  a  native  graft  on  the  old  stock,  hardy 
as  the  silver  firs,  with  the  color  of  the  ruby  king 
lets  in  her  cheeks.  She  had  been  away  visiting 
relatives  during  Helen's  first  summer  on  the 
ranch,  and  only  of  late  had  any  relations  been 
established  between  "Rosario"  and  "Fearing's." 
Even  in  these  outskirts  of  civilization  it  was  tac 
itly  understood  that  while  the  inmates  of  "  Fear- 
ing's"  were  no  better  than  any  one  else,  there  was 
a  difference.  Invisible  barriers  of  this  sort,  how 
ever,  were  nothing  to  Jack. 

There  had  been  a  mail  that  morning  and  among 
its  letters  was  one  from  Tatia,  now  in  long- 
coveted  Petersburg  —  one  of  Tatia's  searching, 
probing  letters  straight  from  the  heart  and  taking 
many  things  for  granted.  "One's  best  posses 
sions,"  she  wrote,  "are  a  dreadful  drag.  If  it  were 
not  for  that  Jack  of  yours  you  would  be  with  me 
here  in  Petersburg,  and  but  for  this  Dimitri  of 
mine  I  should  be  in  the  saddle  with  you  on  the 
plains  —  but,  otherwise,  your  America  is  no  place 
for  me.  It's  for  the  young  or  the  rich  —  I  am 
neither,  and  you,  alas!  are  both.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  yourself  when  summer  is  over 

290 


HELEN 


and  Jack  goes  back  to  school?"  It  was  exuber 
ance  of  life  chiefly,  rather  than  tact,  which  kept 
all  allusions  to  the  past  out  of  Tatia's  letters.  Her 
eyes  were  always  on  the  future. 

What  was  she  going  to  do  when  the  summer 
was  over? 

"Jack." 

The  seriousness  in  her  voice  made  him  look 
up. 

' '  Have  you  ever  thought  of  what  you  are  to  do 
when  you  are  a  man  —  after  college,  I  mean?" 

The  answer  came  prompt  and  masterful. 
"Look  after  you." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  understand  that."  It  always 
pleased  her  to  find  herself  first  in  his  thought. 
Just  now  hers  had  wandered  back  to  Hilda.  "But 
some  day  I  shall  not  be  enough.  Some  day  you 
will  marry  and  have  a  home  of  your  own." 

When  translated  into  words  her  thought  star 
tled  her.  She  was  not  thinking  of  Hilda  specifi 
cally  now.  Hilda  was  even  more  of  a  child  than 
Jack,  and  had  only  started  a  train  of  thought. 
The  possibility  it  first  had  hinted  seemed  so  bald 
when  spoken! — too  momentous  and  too  ridicu 
lously  distant  for  discussion.  To  her  relief  it  made 
no  impression  on  Jack. 

"That  won't  make  any  difference,"  he  said  care 
lessly,  "any  more  than  if  you  did."  And  both 
contingencies  glided  from  his  mind  as  too  remote 
for  serious  consideration.  "When  I  get  through 

291 


HELEN 


school  Mr.  Fearing  says  I  can  go  into  the  office 
for  a  year  —  till  I  get  my  bearings." 

"  Would  you  like  to  ?" 

"Well,  I've  got  to  learn  how  to  take  care  of 
your  money.  A  woman  can't  do  that,  and  you 
can't  expect  Mr.  Fearing  to  be  doing  it  forever." 

"Did  Mr.  Fearing  say  that?" 

"No,  —  but  he  said  a  year  of  business  training 
before  college  was  worth  two  after.  Come,"  he 
said,  getting  up  and  shaking  the  sand  from  his 
clothes,  "we  had  better  be  starting  for  home  or 
we  shall  be  late  to  supper." 

He  gave  her  his  hand,  swinging  her  lightly  to 
her  saddle,  and  the  ponies  shuffled  off  in  their 
foxtrot,  breaking  finally  into  a  gallop. 

"I  remember,"  he  laughed  as  they  pulled  up, 
the  ponies  panting,  at  a  prairie  pool,  "you  turned 
up  your  nose  at  grub  when  you  first  came  out  last 
year.  Now  you  grovel  for  it  like  the  rest  of  us." 

She  smiled  assent,  out  of  breath,  her  cheeks  hot 
with  the  long  run,  the  wind  in  her  blowing  hair. 
She  was  hungry. 

As  they  neared  the  ranch  among  the  cotton- 
woods  and  willows,  the  dogs  gave  them  welcome, 
sniffing  suspiciously  at  the  ponies'  heels  and  lying 
down  again  satisfied.  There  was  barely  time  to 
get  out  of  her  riding-clothes  before  supper  was 
ready. 

During  this  process  her  thought  reverted  to 
Tatia's  letter,  to  its  closing  and  only  reference  to 

292 


HELEN 


Mr.  Fearing.  "  I  assume  he  is  alive,"  Tatia  wrote, 
"though  you  make  no  mention  of  the  fact  and  he 
never  writes.  He  evidently  assumes  we  are  dead  " 
—  Tatia  was  prodigal  with  underlining  emphasis. 
"If  by  any  chance  you  should  see  him  in  the 
course  of  your  business  relations,  say  to  him  I 
am  willing  to  forgive  his  neglect  and  inconsiderate 
behavior  at  the  first  sign  of  repentance." 

Inconsiderate!  How  little  Tatia  knew!  In 
those  days  of  misery  when  her  one  longing  had 
been  for  Jack,  she  had  cabled  him.  The  answer 
came  back:  "All  preparations  made.  Cable 
steamer."  Jack  was  on  the  ranch  then,  but  he 
was  waiting  for  her  on  the  dock,  and  they  left  to 
gether,  they  two  alone,  the  same  day  for  the  West. 
It  was  all  exactly  as  she  had  wished.  The  wound 
was  raw  then,  and  he  had  not  touched  it. 

Neglect!  Jack  himself  was  astonished  at  certain 
transformations  at  the  ranch  wrought  in  his  brief 
absence.  Before  sitting  down  to  supper  she  made 
a  mental  catalogue  of  facts  wherewith  to  refute 
Tatia's  unjust  allegations.  They  were  about  her 
on  every  side.  She  had  dismounted  at  the  broad 
verandah  added  to  the  ranch  the  year  before. 
She  had  had  her  plunge  in  the  deep  swimming- 
pool  among  the  box  alders  where  a  screen  had 
been  arranged  for  her  special  use.  And  she  was 
dressing  in  the  master's  room,  somewhat  incon 
gruously  adorned  with  feminine  chintz  and  mas 
culine  game  trophies.  There  was  other  material 

293 


HELEN 


in  plenty  for  Tatia  —  almost  too  much.  To-night 
its  volume  oppressed  her,  as  if  it  were  something 
its  recipient  should  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge, 
and  sitting  out  on  the  verandah  after  Jack  had 
gone  to  bed  she  decided  that  Tatia' s  charges  were 
too  absurd  for  refutation  —  which  was  a  great 
disappointment  to  Tatia. 

Curled  up  asleep  after  their  evening  meal,  the 
dogs  were  so  many  dark  patches  at  her  feet.  They 
were  very  friendly  with  her,  though  behaving 
scandalously  with  each  other.  She  knew  them  all 
individually,  distinct  as  each  was  in  canine  char 
acteristics.  Her  favorite,  proud  of  his  distinction, 
had  his  head  at  that  moment  on  her  foot,  as  if 
conscious  of  protection  from  his  wiser  brethren. 
Jack  had  named  him  Clown,  for  he  was  a  young 
dog  with  much  to  learn,  and  the  occasional  whine 
with  which  he  answered  the  wail  of  a  prowling 
coyote  was  proof  that  he  had  not  yet  mastered 
interest  for  the  lesser  game  his  elders  had  been 
taught  to  despise.  He  had  no  scars  to  show  as  they 
had,  but  a  twitching  limb  and  low  growl  told  he 
was  already  earning  them  in  his  dreams. 

What  was  she  going  to  do  with  the  coming 
winter?  It  was  not  so  far  away  now.  The  grass 
was  drying  up,  the  flowers  were  gone,  the  songs 
of  the  mocking-birds  and  rose  finches  in  the  river 
bottom  were  over,  the  plain,  flooded  by  the  moon, 
would  soon  be  white  with  snow,  and  at  night  the 
north  wind  from  the  dark  line  of  pifions  and 

294 


HELEN 


cedars  on  the  far  slopes  of  the  foothills  sounded 
its  crisp  note  of  warning.  Last  year,  when  the 
season  ended,  she  had  taken  a  furnished  house 
with  her  English  maid  in  the  village  near  Jack's 
school.  That  did  not  appeal  to  her  now,  though 
she  felt  she  must  be  near  Jack.  The  years  had 
wrought  their  change  in  her.  A  stronger  pulse 
throbbed  in  her  veins.  She  would  have  liked  to 
stay  where  she  was,  but  without  Jack  that  was 
impossible.  Dear  possessions,  as  Tatia  had  said, 
made  a  difference. 

In  her  lap  was  another  letter,  from  Mrs.  Stuart, 
who  had  taken  a  house-boat  in  Florida  for  the 
winter  and  begged  her  to  join  their  "  strictly  fam 
ily  party."  By  far  the  greater  part  of  this  letter 
was  devoted  to  the  news  of  the  arrival  of  a  little 
girl.  "She  is  a  perfect  darling,"  Madge  wrote, 
"and  we  want  to  name  her  Helen"  —  for  occult 
reasons  not  committed  to  paper — "do  you 
mind?"  No,  Helen  did  not  mind.  She  had  no 
intention  of  accepting  the  invitation  to  Florida, 
but  she  had  changed  the  opinion  she  had  formed 
of  Mrs.  Stuart  that  day  at  Celestin's.  Madge  had 
written  on  her  return  from  Egypt  offering  to  come 
to  Touraine  "if  desired";  otherwise  she  would 
send  certain  things  she  thought  belonged  to  her, 
Helen,  rather  than  to  Monsieur  de  Trecourt's 
family.  It  was  the  first  intimation  Helen  had  had 
of  the  part  Mrs.  Stuart  had  played  in  Cairo,  and 
she  had  said,  "Come";  not  so  much  because  of 

295 


HELEN 


anything  in  Mrs.  Stuart's  letter  as  of  some  very 
flattering  things  the  English  doctor  had  written 
about  her  —  praise  which  would  have  gratified 
that  lady  greatly  had  she  been  privileged  to 
read  it. 

There  had  been  nothing  offensive  or  obtrusive 
about  her  visitor.  She  had  not  offered  any  con 
solation,  or  descanted  on  the  healing  properties  of 
time,  or  referred,  as  the  Villa  Fontana  did,  to  the 
mysterious  ways  of  an  overruling  Providence. 
She  had  simply  and  naturally  told  the  things 
Helen  wanted  to  hear. 

Helen  had  been  prepared  by  the  doctor's  letter 
to  receive  Mrs.  Stuart  kindly,  and  Madge  was 
the  only  person  in  the  world  who  could  tell  her  all 
she  longed  to  know  —  the  woman  who  had  stood 
in  her  place.  But  she  was  not  prepared  for  the 
transformation  of  the  shallow,  pert  visitor  of  the 
Avenue  Montaigne  into  this  friend  whose  sincer 
ity  and  comprehending  reserves  disarmed  any 
dread  she  had  felt  in  looking  forward  to  this  inter 
view.  Madge  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  moral 
regeneration.  How  or  why  it  had  come  to  pass 
Helen  did  not  in  the  least  understand.  They  had 
sat  together  a  long  hour  under  the  sycamores,  and 
after  Madge  had  gone,  she  found  in  the  sealed 
envelope  the  "certain  things"  —  her  own  letter 
to  Jean  and  a  few  withered  violets.  She  under 
stood  no  better  now,  as  the  memory  of  that  hour 
came  back  to  her  over  the  years,  but  it  touched 

296 


HELEN 


her  that  this  woman  whom  she  had  misjudged, 
who  had  stood  by  his  bedside  and  ministered  in 
her  stead,  should  wish  to  link  her  with  her  own 
intimate  life  through  her  child.  How  little,  after 
all,  she  thought,  we  know  each  other  —  or  our 
selves. 

Presently,  from  around  the  corner  of  the  ranch 
came  Stone,  the  manager.  He  veered  away  on 
seeing  her,  but  she  called  to  him,  and  he  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  verandah.  The  night  was 
growing  chilly,  and  his  buckskin  jacket  was  but 
toned  to  the  throat.  Buttoning  and  unbuttoning 
this  jacket,  or  loosening  and  tightening  the  blue 
spotted  handkerchief  knotted  at  his  throat,  were 
the  only  visible  changes  in  his  toilet  she  had  ever 
been  able  to  discover. 

"You  need  n't  give  up  your  pipe,  Stone,"  she 
said,  "I  like  it.  It  won't  be  long  before  we  are 
leaving  you." 

"No,  marm,  and  the  best  of  the  year  com 
ing." 

"  Is  it?   I  really  should  like  to  stay  and  see." 

"There's  nothing  to  hinder  at  this  end,  Miss 
Lee.  We  could  make  you  as  comfortable  as  a 
kitten  by  the  fire." 

He  spoke  quite  confidently,  as  if  weather  were 
the  only  consideration. 

"You  see  Jack  must  be  back  for  school." 

Instantly  Stone  saw  a  boy  on  a  revolving  stool 
at  a  high  desk. 

297 


HELEN 


"Which  is  cruelty  to  animals,"  he  remarked 
laconically. 

"But  Jack  has  to  be  something  more  than  an 
animal,"  laughed  Helen. 

Stone  smoked  on  reflectively.  "I've  lived 
among  'em  most  of  my  life,"  he  said  at  length, 
"and  as  between  the  general  run  of  men,  of  what 
you  might  call  civilized  men,"  he  qualified,  "I 
prefer  most  animals.  Now  you  take  that  dog 
resting  on  your  foot,  I  reckon  he  'd  die  for  you  — 
and  he's  a  fool  dog  at  that." 

Helen  stooped  to  pat  the  long,  silky  ears. 
Clown,  dreaming,  rolled  over  unresponsive. 

"Not  all  your  animals,  Stone,  would  be  so  com 
panionable  as  Clown." 

"No,  marm,  that's  my  point.  They  all  speak 
out  their  natural  feelings.  You  can  depend  upon 
them  for  that." 

"But  is  n't  it  lonely  when  the  snow  comes?" 
she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

Stone  chuckled.  "You  may  not  believe  it,  but 
the  loneliest  man  I  ever  knew  was  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Stone  in  the  crowd  on  Broad  Street." 
He  pressed  the  tobacco  down  in  the  bowl  of  his 
pipe.  "When  a  man  gets  to  be  so  busy  that  he  has 
to  wire  me  to  come  clear  to  New  York  for  a  ten 
minutes'  conversation  I  go  away  thinking." 

"Thinking  of  what?" 

"That  I'd  be  mighty  glad  to  get  back  where 
there's  nobody  disputing  the  air  I'm  breathing. 

298 


HELEN 


We  're  tolerably  full  of  business  ourselves  out  here 
most  of  the  time,  but  we  Ve  got  elbow-room  to  do 
it  in." 

"What  did  he  wire  you  for,  Stone?" 

"Oh,  just  to  know  first-hand  how  things  were 
going  on." 

"Nothing  in  particular,  then." 

"No,  marm,  nothing  in  particular.  Stop  your 
noise,  Clown.  You  ain't  chasing  no  coyote." 

"Is  Mr.  Fearing  coming  out  this  fall?" 

"Maybe.  He  used  to  come  regular.  I  reckon 
the  ranch  has  got  to  be  a  kind  of  plaything,  such 
as  children  get  tired  of.  The  last  he  wrote  he  said 
he  might  be  out  in  the  fall  —  after  you'd  gone." 

Helen  was  silent. 

"If  you'll  excuse  me  for  saying  so,  had  n't  you 
better  go  inside?  There's  a  fire  lit.  The  nights 
get  sorter  biting  when  the  moon  comes  up." 

"Yes.   Good-night,  Stone." 

"Good-night,  marm,"  he  said,  rising. 

Clown  rose,  too,  and  after  standing  with  his  nose 
to  the  door  till  convinced  it  was  not  to  open  again, 
flopped  down  beside  Stone.  He  laid  his  big  hand 
on  the  dog's  flank,  gathering  up  the  loose  young 
skin  in  his  grip,  till  the  dog  whined.  "We  know 
one  as  will  miss  her,  don't  we,"  he  said. 

For  answer  Clown  sat  up,  shaking  his  skin  into 
place,  to  observe  the  refilling  and  lighting  of  the 
pipe,  warily,  his  head  askew. 

"You're  no  such  fool  dog  as  they  make  out," 
299 


HELEN 


said  Stone  to  himself.   "You  know  more  than  the 
whole  pack." 

Clown  watched  the  spark  of  the  match  as  it 
sailed  out  over  his  sleeping  kin,  then  lay  down  on 
the  doormat. 

Two  weeks  later  the  moon  was  gonfe.  So  had 
what  Stone  called  Helen's  kit,  on  the  long  trail  to 
the  nearest  railway  station  —  when  Jack,  who 
had  ridden  over  to  Rosario  to  make  his  formal 
bow  of  farewell,  reined  up  before  the  verandah  in 
the  dark. 

"Helen,  come  in,  quick —  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

He  led  the  way  to  her  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  them.  She  saw  that  he  was  trembling. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jack  dear?" 

"Helen"  —  his  voice  broke  —  " I've  kissed  her 

—  I  did  n't  mean  to  —  we  could  n't  help  it  —  we 
went  for  a  ride  —  just  a  little  one  —  for  the  last 
time  —  and  the  pony  stumbled  in  a  badger  hole 

—  I  caught  her  —  and  then  —  I  could  n't  let  go 

—  can't  you  understand  — " 

Yes,  she  understood.  The  irrevocable  had  hap 
pened. 

"I've  got  to  tell  Mr.  Fearing  —  what  do  you 
think  he'll  say  —  you'll  stand  by  me,  won't  you, 
Helen—" 

She  took  his  hands  in  hers.  "You  really  love 
her,  Jack?" 

300 


HELEN 


"More  than  anything  else  in  the  world."  She 
understood  that,  too.  "And  we  are  going  to 
morrow,"  he  groaned. 

"We  need  n't  go  to-morrow,  dear.  We  will 
stay  another  day,  and  I  '11  ride  over  to  Rosario 
with  you." 

"Oh,  Helen,"  he  cried,  flinging  his  arms  around 
her,  "what  a  brick  you  are  —  you're  the  dearest 
girl  in  the  world  —  I  knew  you  would."  And  they 
talked  together  as  they  used  to  do,  far  into  the 
night. 

At  the  door  he  held  her  close.  He  could  feel  her 
heart  beating  against  his  own,  and  confession  had 
made  him  bold. 

"Helen,  you  know  we  said  once  we  would  never 
have  any  secrets  from  each  other."  She  drew  a 
quick  breath.  "But  we  have."  She  made  an 
effort  to  free  herself,  but  he  held  her  the  closer. 
"You  remember  the  night  I  came  back  from  our 
automobile  excursion  —  when  I  went  over  to  see 
you  —  that  was  the  first  time.  I  did  n't  know 
what  it  was.  I  was  awfully  glad  to  see  you,  and 
when  I  kissed  you  —  Do  you  remember  those 
things  in  grandmamma's  garden  that  curled  up 
when  we  touched  them?  You  curled  up,  drew 
back,  I  mean,  just  as  they  did.  I  did  n't  under 
stand  why  —  I  only  felt  it.  Afterwards,  I  under 
stood.  You  don't  mind  my  speaking  about  it,  do 
you?" 
She  shook  her  head. 

301 


HELEN 


"Then,  on  the  train,  when  we  said  good-bye, 
I  told  you  I  wished  it  was  Mr.  Fearing.  You 
thought  I  was  crazy  —  yes,  you  did  —  I  was  n't. 
I  Ve  had  a  secret,  too,  from  you  —  you  're  sure 
you  don't  mind  my  speaking  of  it?" 

"No." 

The  strange  thing  was  that  he  was  riding  rough 
shod  over  her  heart  of  hearts,  and  it  did  not  hurt. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  knew  it  —  but  I  know  he 
loved  you  then  — " 

"Oh,  no,  Jack,  not  then  — " 

"I  don't  blame  him.  How  could  he  help  it!" 
He  tilted  up  the  head  on  his  shoulder  till  he  could 
look  squarely  into  the  eyes.  "Be  honest,  Helen  — 
if  you  did  n't  know  then  you  know  now." 

"Yes,  Jack,  I  do  know  now." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  that  —  that  you  thought 

—  that  because  he  stayed  away  so,  he  did  n't  —  " 
"Don't,  Jack,  please—" 

His  hand  was  under  her  chin  still.  "Helen,  you 
love  him"  —  the  joy  in  his  voice  matched  her 
shining  eyes —  "you  might  as  well  own  up  to  it 

—  then  why  don't  you  tell  him  —  Hilda  did." 
"Oh,  Jack,"  she  cried,  yielding  herself  to  his 

pressure,  "what  a  dear  goose  you  are." 

He  laughed  triumphantly.    "I'm  glad  I  am. 

I  hate  secrets.   What  are  you  crying  for?" 
She  pushed  him  gently  out  the  door  and  began 

to  undress.    What  was  she  crying  for?    Was  it 

because  all  the  fulness  and  richness  of  life  was 

302 


HELEN 


coming  back?  How  could  that  be!  What  was 
this  new,  this  alien  joy,  forcing  its  way  up  through 
the  wreck  of  her  spring  world?  or  was  it  the  same 
unconquerable  hunger  of  the  heart,  crushed  under 
foot  like  a  growing  thing,  yet  refusing  to  die  till 
satisfied?  To  be  beloved!  Did  that  suffice?  Was 
that  enough  to  deaden  memory,  to  put  grieving  to 
sleep,  to  create  her  anew?  It  seemed  as  if  some 
unpitying  hand  were  blotting  out  her  past  while 
she  stood  by  unpro testing,  unmoved. 

He  had  said  once  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  her. 
The  words  had  carried  no  meaning  then,  except 
to  bring  a  smile.  She  knew  their  meaning  now, 
had  known  it  for  a  long  time  —  knew  that  at 
the  bottom  of  that  fear  was  constant  care  and 
thoughtfulness.  It  was  not  fear.  It  was  what  a 
woman  prizes  above  life.  How  should  she  let  him 
know  that  she  knew,  that  she  so  prized  it  —  with 
out  shame  for  the  unforgotten  past?  She  could 
not  understand  herself  —  would  he?  Was  she 
beginning  to  be  afraid  of  him? 

Sleep  answered  none  of  these  questions,  taught 
her  no  self-understanding.  In  the  night  nothing 
happened.  But  riding  over  with  Jack  to  Rosario 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine  and  the  bracing  morning 
air,  the  world  seemed  good  to  live  in.  It  was 
strange,  it  was  new  —  but  it  was  real. 


XXXIII 

JACK'S  letter  to  Mr.  Fearing  was  one  of  those  effu 
sions  which  make  the  reader  weep  or  smile  accord 
ing  to  temperament  and  experience.  Fearing  had 
no  hesitancy  as  to  his  answer.  Spring  floods  brook 
no  dam.  One  can  only  wait  to  see  whether  the 
sources  hold  out  or  fail.  He  did  not  suggest  the 
latter  alternative,  a  useless  procedure  in  flood- 
time  and  a  belated  one  when  the  river-bed  is  dry. 
His  reply,  couched  in  the  friendly  terms  which 
characterized  all  their  relations,  satisfied  Jack. 
If  he  felt  any  disappointment  it  was  that  so  mo 
mentous  an  event  should  cause  so  slight  a  ripple. 
Helen's  explanatory  pages  were  more  trouble 
some.  He  had  told  her  once  he  was  a  little  afraid 
of  her.  The  truth  was  he  was  now  afraid  of  him 
self.  But  for  Tatia's  pseudo-fainting  fit  he  might 
never  have  acknowledged  what  that  unguarded 
moment  had  wrung  from  him  when  he  saw  Helen 
slipping  out  of  his  life,  as  he  thought  then  forever. 
Fate  had  brought  her  back,  bruised  and  inacces 
sible,  a  wounded  thing  to  care  for,  to  shield  from 
himself  —  from  the  hunger  which  came  with  her 
loss  and  which  she  only  could  appease.  He  could 
not  live  without  it.  He  clung  to  it  while  holding 
it  at  bay.  For  he  loved  her,  and  therefore  wanted 
her  —  and  it  was  no  spring  flood. 

304 


HELEN 


"  Hilda  is  a  very  unusual  girl,"  wrote  Helen, 
1  standing  by '  Jack.  "  I  do  not  say  this  out  of  loy 
alty  to  my  brother.  My  only  thought  is,  as  yours 
will  be,  do  they  really  know  their  own  hearts?  I 
wish  you  could  see  her.  We  are  leaving  to-day 
for  St.  Luke's,  and  I  shall  stay  there  till  Jack  is 
settled.  Afterwards  —  could  you  lend  me  Peter? 
I  suppose  there  are  other  Peters  to  be  had,  but  I 
do  not  know  them.  I  want  to  go  off  somewhere 
and  think." 

Lend  her  Peter!  He  had  been  racking  his  brain 
for  two  years  to  find  ways  to  do  for  her.  This 
was  the  first  time  she  had  asked  for  anything.  He 
wrote  at  once. 

"I  think  we — "  she  noticed  the  'we*  and 
smiled  at  the  infelicity  which  followed  —  "had 
better  seize  the  bull  by  the  horns.  I  am  going  to 
London  for  a  month,  perhaps  longer.  Why  won't 
you  take  my  house  at  Sandhurst  while  I  am  away, 
till  your  winter  plans  are  made,  and  ask  Hilda  to 
spend  the  month  with  you?  The  housekeeper, 
Willis,  is  a  good  sort,  and  you  will  find  Peter  there. 
I  hope  Hilda's  grammar  is  good.  Jack  speaks  only 
of  minor  qualifications.  I  have  written  him  by 
this  mail  to  stick  to  his  books.  His  last  year's  re 
port  showed  he  was  first  in  athletics  —  in  other 
things  rather  close  to  the  danger-line."  Then, 
with  some  misgivings,  he  indulged  in  a  postscript. 
"  I  hope  this  will  appeal  to  you,  and  to  Hilda.  I 
should  like  to  see  her."  He  read  so  much  more 

305 


HELEN 


into  both  letter  and  postscript  that  he  posted 
them  without  re-reading,  lest  a  rising  fear  of 
gambling  with  fate  should  get  the  better  of  him. 

As  the  day  of  sailing  drew  near  without  a  reply, 
he  concluded  postscript  and  all  were  a  mistake, 
and  the  pilot,  dropping  into  his  boat  off  Sandy 
Hook,  left  ship  and  life  empty.  But  on  the  way 
to  his  room  he  met  the  mail  clerk  with  a  letter. 
How  did  she  know  he  was  sailing  by  that  steamer? 
He  had  not  mentioned  it.  And  why  had  she  not 
addressed  it  to  the  office  as  she  invariably  did? 
Between  a  steamer  and  an  office  letter  was  all  the 
difference  between  the  personal  and  the  imper 
sonal.  It  was  a  very  brief  letter.  It  contained  no 
reference  to  Sandhurst,  nor  to  Hilda  —  except  to 
assure  him  he  would  find  her  grammar  excellent. 
Its  brevity  and  silences  were  a  contradiction  of 
her  habitual  straightforwardness.  Was  it  merely 
to  thank  him  for  lending  her  Peter,  and  was  Sand 
hurst  so  out  of  the  question  as  not  even  to  merit 
mention?  He  argued  these  questions  pro  and  con 
all  the  way  from  Sandy  Hook  to  Fastnet. 

In  London  he  did  an  impulsive  thing  entirely 
foreign  to  his  nature.  He  wrote  Murray  Brothers 
to  send  the  parcel  in  their  keeping  to  Tatia.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  justification  for  making 
such  a  gift  to  Tatia.  Undoubtedly  she  would  be 
stunned.  He  was  not  considering  what  the  effect 
on  Tatia  would  be.  He  was  only  burying  the 
past  a  little  deeper,  and  in  the  small  circle  of  his 

306 


HELEN 


acquaintances  among  the  other  sex  Tatia  was  the 
only  grave  available. 

Coming  on  deck  the  first  morning  of  the  home 
ward  voyage,  he  saw  a  short,  thick- set  man  jump 
from  a  chair,  and  the  familiar  words:  "Well,  by 
all  the  gods,  if  it  is  n't  Fearing!"  halted  him  like  a 
blow  in  the  face. 

Wrapped  below  the  waist  in  a  steamer  rug  from 
which  she  emerged  like  a  flower  from  its  sheath  in 
most  bewitching  attire,  Mrs.  Stuart  smiled  up  at 
him  pleasantly. 

He  made  an  effort  to  be  cordial  to  Jim,  who, 
after  his  first  explosion  of  glad  surprise,  explained 
that  they  were  bound  for  Florida  —  never  had 
been  there  —  Madge's  idea  —  anything  better 
than  London  in  winter  —  had  no  idea  he  was  on 
board. 

Into  this  torrent  of  words  broke  Madge's  thin 
voice.  "You  have  n't  had  your  morning  cigar 
yet,  Jim.  Give  Mr.  Fearing  your  chair.  I  want 
to  talk  to  him." 

Taken  aback  in  the  midst  of  his  flow  of  spirits, 
Jim  looked  at  his  wife  enquiringly. 

"You  can  come  back  in  half  an  hour,"  she  said 
with  sweet  decision. 

Jim  nodded,  the  expression  on  his  face  merging 
from  surprise  to  one  of  previous  and  complete 
agreement.  All  he  really  understood  was  that 
whatever  Madge  wished  to  confide-  to  Fearing 
would  be  confided  to  him  later. 

307 


HELEN 


"You  need  n't  be  afraid,"  said  Madge  to  Fear 
ing  as  Jim  turned  away;  "  I  'm  clothed  and  in  my 
right  mind." 

Fearing  knew  Jim  thoroughly.  He  was  as  trans 
parent  and  as  translucent  as  a  window  pane. 
Looking  down  on  Madge,  he  marvelled  at  the 
variety  in  her,  the  confusing  metamorphoses  of 
the  eternally  unchanging  feminine. 

"You  really  had  better  sit  down.  I  can't  talk 
up  to  you." 

Fearing  sat  down  on  the  extension  of  the  chair. 
His  was  a  forgiving  nature.  While  Madge  had 
once  stung  him  to  fury,  he  remembered  her  malice 
had  been  grounded  in  fact. 

"You  need  n't  be  cross  with  me,"  she  said, 
lowering  her  voice;  "I'm  not  cross  with  you, 
though  I  have  every  reason  to  be,  for  you  were 
nasty  to  me  in  Paris,  when  I  was  right  and  you 
were  —  shall  we  say  evasive?  But  we  won't  rake 
up  old  grudges  and  you  need  n't  look  so  solemn. 
I  want  to  show  you  Helen." 

Fearing  started.   They  were  Tatia's  words. 

"  Men  hate  babies,  I  know,"  she  smiled,  turning 
to  the  chair  beside  her,  unwrapping  a  fluffy  roll  in 
the  arms  of  a  nurse  and  disclosing  a  pink  face  and 
two  starry  blue  eyes,  "but  is  n't  she  a  perfect 
darling?  And  the  very  image  of  Jim  —  which  is 
too  funny  for  words,  for  you  know  Jim  never  cared 
for  children." 

Having  achieved  what  was  at  once  a  diversion 
308 


HELEN 


and  an  introduction,  she  covered  up  the  pink 
morsel  and  unwound  the  rug  from  her  own  feet. 

"But  that's  not  what  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you 
about.  Give  me  your  hand,  please,  and  we'll  go 
over  by  the  rail." 

"If  you  wish  me  to  talk  — " 

"You  need  n't.  You  can  listen.  A  lot  of  water 
you  know  nothing  about  has  run  under  the  mill 
since  you  lost  your  temper."  She  leaned  over  the 
rail,  looking  down  at  the  racing  foam.  "I  admit 
I  was  a  bit  nasty,  too.  She  rubbed  me  the  wrong 
way.  I  thought  she  was  proud,  supercilious,  and 
that  night  at  the  station  when  I  saw  her  — " 

"We  won't  discuss  that,  Madge." 

She  looked  up  quickly.  "Well,  what  would  you 
have  thought  in  my  place?  What  did  you  think? 
That  it  was  a  lie  or  a  mistake,  of  course  —  but  it 
worried  you,  and  I  meant  it  should.  But  that's 
past  history.  Now  I'm  going  to  tell  you  some 
thing  else  I  did  that  was  nastier"  —  her  perfect 
assurance  and  innocent  blue  eyes  were  stupefying. 
"Did  you  know  I  was  in  Cairo  when  Tr£court 
died?  No,  I  thought  not.  Well,  I  was.  I  went  to 
the  hospital  out  of  common  decency,  and  I  stayed  " 
—  her  eyes  dropped  to  the  racing  bubbles  again, 
and  her  voice  trailed  off  brokenly  —  "out  of  — 
call  it  pity  —  or  remorse  —  a  mere  boy,  babbling 
out  his  poor  heart  to  me  in  delirium  —  to  me,  of 
all  persons!  He  was  worried,  —  that  was  how  I 
knew  you  were,  that  your  telegram  was  an  after- 

309 


HELEN 


thought.  Then  came  a  letter  —  from  her.  I  took 
it  to  him.  He  died  with  it  in  his  hand.  Afterwards 
I  took  it  to  her  —  but  I  read  it  first.  It  was  n't 
fair.  I  read  the  first  sentence  to  see  what  it  was  — 
after  that  I  defy  any  woman  to  have  kept  from 
reading  the  rest."  The  pink  deepened  on  her 
cheeks  and  the  hardness  in  her  voice  softened. 
"You  think  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  confess  it. 
I  am  not.  It  did  me  such  a  lot  of  good.  Don't  you 
think  it's  rather  nice  of  me  to  own  I  needed  it?" 
The  faint,  ironic  smile  in  her  eyes  saved  her  speech 
from  coquetry.  He  would  not  answer,  and  she 
continued.  "  It  was  such  a  pitiful  letter  —  like  a 
mother's,  torn  in  two  between  love  and  duty  — 
she  called  it  reason.  It  made  me  feel  naked. 
That's  what  I  meant  just  now  when  I  said  I  was 
clothed  and  in  my  right  mind.  I  don't  know 
whether  she  knew  I  read  it  or  not  —  I  think  she 
did  —  and  I  don't  care.  If  she  knew,  she  under 
stood—" 

"Understood  what?" 

She  made  a  despairing  gesture.  "I  can't  get 
down  on  my  hands  and  knees  to  you.  If  she  did 
n't  understand,  she  would  if  she  knew.  I  can't 
make  it  any  plainer.  She  let  me  name  my  baby 
Helen.  Being  a  rather  stupid  man,  you  probably 
think  that  was  a  whim  on  my  part.  It  was  n't, 
and  I  don't  believe  she  thought  so.  You  ought 
not  to  be  so  very  cross  with  me  if  I  cared  enough 
for  her  to  ask  that." 

310 


HELEN 


"I  am  not  cross  with  you  at  all,"  he  said. 

"Nor  for  speaking?" 

"No." 

"Then  I'll  say  something  else."  She  squared 
her  back  to  the  rail,  looking  up  at  him  humor 
ously.  "I  suppose  you  call  yourself  a  successful 
man.  How  a  man  who  has  been  as  successful  as 
you  have  been  can  be  such  a  fool  about  some 
things  passes  belief.  I  was  right  in  Paris,  in  spite 
of  all  your  fine  denials,  and  I  am  right  now.  Any 
one  can  see  that."  She  caught  the  warning  ex 
pression  on  his  face.  "Fudge!  Men  think  a  wo 
man  has  to  be  told.  Women  wait  to  be  told 
because  it 's  conventional  and  agreeable,  but  it 's 
entirely  superfluous  —  so  far  as  knowing  is  con 
cerned." 

She  crossed  the  deck  to  her  chair,  and  Jim,  in 
the  door  of  the  smoking-room,  judging  the  parley 
was  over,  sauntered  down  between  them. 

"  I  have  been  showing  him  Helen,"  said  Madge, 
smiling  brightly. 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  said  Jim  good-naturedly. 
"I  expected  as  much.  Madge  bores  every  one  to 
death  about  that  kid  of  hers.  I  shall  be  lucky  if  I 
have  a  friend  left.  I  'm  damned  glad  to  see  you, 
Fearing.  What  do  you  say  to  a  walk?" 

"You  did  n't  have  a  row  with  Fearing,  did  you, 
Madge?"  Jim  asked  afterwards. 

"Row!   How  ridiculous!" 

"He  was  glum  as  an  oyster." 


HELEN 


"I  did  give  him  something  to  think  of,  but  I 
don't  believe  it  made  him  glum." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  voyage  she  was  tactful 
enough  not  to  renew  their  conversation.  She  had 
had  her  say.  But  coming  up  the  bay  on  the  last 
day  he  joined  her  at  the  rail,  and  she  knew  from 
his  manner  he  had  something  to  say  to  her.  The 
towering  windows  above  the  Battery  were  a  blaze 
of  light.  She  made  no  distracting  remarks,  con 
scious  that  his  mind  was  not  on  the  view. 

"  Madge,  I  am  very  likely  all  you  say  I  am,  but 
I  can't  make  myself  over.  I  must  be  myself.  The 
worst  mistakes  of  my  life  were  those  in  which  I 
tried  to  be  somebody  else." 

She  nodded.  Then,  after  a  silence:  "It's  not 
you  I  am  worrying  about.  But  don't  tempt  me  to 
meddle  with  you.  I  should  add  a  heaping  table- 
spoonful  of  self-conceit  —  and  that  might  spoil 
you." 

His  secretary  was  at  the  landing-stage  with 
letters.  He  glanced  them  over.  Nothing.  The 
crowded  pier  seemed  lonely. 

"There's  no  large  luggage,"  he  said,  giving  his 
keys,  "and  nothing  to  declare.  I  shall  go  to  the 
Club  to-night  and  be  at  the  office  in  the  morning." 

He  was  looking  about  for  Jack,  who  never  let 
slip  an  opportunity  of  this  sort  to  break  away 
from  school  fetters.  Was  Jack  growing  wiser  and 
steadier?  So  much  the  better!  And  the  loneliness 
deepened. 

312 


HELEN 


Halfway  down  the  pier-shed  he  saw  Peter. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Peter?"  he  asked. 

"Waiting  for  you,  sir." 

"You  came  in  from  Sandhurst?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  Willis  send  you?"  Willis  ought  to  know 
better.  Willis  knew  he  always  went  to  the  Club. 

"No,  sir;  Miss  Lee  did." 

"You  can  wait  for  my  luggage,  Peter."  He 
strove  to  ask  no  more  questions,  to  keep  his  voice 
natural.  "Where  is  the  car?" 

"Just  outside,  sir  —  opposite." 

He  stepped  into  the  telephone  booth  and  called 
up  Sandhurst. 

"Is  that  you,  Willis?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Can  I  speak  to  Miss  Lee?" 

"Good  Lord,  sir!  I  hope  nothing  has  hap 
pened.  She's  not  here,  sir  —  she  —  " 

" Not  there— " 

"  No,  sir.  I  told  her  as  how  you  always  went  to 
the  Club,  but  she  would  order  the  motor.  She 
started—" 

He  hung  up  the  receiver.  He  was  trembling 
like  a  child.  Beyond  the  gate  the  dock  was 
jammed  with  trucks  and  motors.  He  forced  his 
way  between  them  to  the  limousine  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  street  —  Peter  always  managed 
to  be  first  in  line  —  and  turned  the  handle  of  the 
door. 


313 


HELEN 


"Helen—" 

He  spoke  into  the  darkness  as  if  no  one  was 
there.  He  could  not  believe  it. 

" Yes  —  it's  Helen." 

Even  now,  holding  her  in  his  arms,  he  refused 
to  believe  — holding  her  off,  to  read  it  in  her  eyes. 

"You  asked  me  to  come —  I  have  come  to  stay." 

He  caught  her  to  him  again,  their  breaths 
mingling.  The  eyes  closed  again  with  a  long  sigh 
of  submission. 

"Don't,  dear,"  she  murmured. 

It  was  seventy  miles  to  Sandhurst. 

Willis  was  at  the  door  as  the  warning  bell  rang 
from  the  lodge-gate.  Helen  fled  past  her  through 
the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  before  a  word  was 
spoken.  Something  seemed  to  have  ruffled  Wil 
lis's  temper. 

"You'll  be  staying  here  to-night,  then,"  she 
said  in  answer  to  Fearing's  welcome. 

"No,  not  to-night,  Willis.  I  shall  be  out  early 
in  the  morning." 

"It's  pretty  nearly  morning  already,"  she  said 
grimly.  "I  told  Miss  Lee—" 

"It 'sail  right,  Willis." 

"You  won't  have  a  bit  of  supper  —  of  break 
fast,  I  mean,  sir?" 

"No,  thanks." 

"Not  even  a  cup  of  tea,  sir?"  She  was  follow 
ing  him  down  the  steps.  "I  put  Miss  Lee  in  the 

314 


HELEN 


west  wing,  and  the  young  lady  —  being  timid- 
like  —  next  her  in  — " 

"  Quite  right,  Willis,  good-night." 

The  motor  started.  She  watched  its  red  light 
as  it  sped  down  the  driveway. 

"I  don't  blame  him  for  being  vexed,"  she  mut 
tered  wrathfully.  "Folks  as  don't  know  other 
folks'  habits  are  always  interfering.  Think  of 
dragging  him  out  here  at  past  midnight  —  and  he 
so  good-natured  —  for  nothing!" 

She  closed  the  door  with  a  bang,  locked  it,  and 
began  to  turn  out  the  lights. 

In  far-away  Petersburg  Tatia,  opening  a  sealed 
package  from  Murray  Brothers,  was  at  that  mo 
ment  very  near  to  fainting  in  dead  earnest,  for 
Tatia  was  an  excellent  judge  of  pearls  and  quick 
in  jumping  to  conclusions.  She  shared  them 
with  Dimitri  and  Alexis  on  the  instant  without 
waiting  for  confirmation. 

Dimitri  said  nothing. 

Alexis  drew  a  long  breath. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Alexis?"  Tatia 
challenged. 

"I  was  thinking  of  that  poor  boy  in  Egypt. 
We  seem  to  have  forgotten  him." 

Tatia  kindled.  "We  forget  nothing  that  is 
real''  she  said  —  "nor  refuse  it  either." 

THE  END 


(Cfte  fitoertfbe 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 


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LD  21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 


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